The Rose and the Crown: Concert of Europe
by ScipioSmith
Summary: Sequel to The Rose and Crown: The Realm's Delight. Cinderella balances motherhood and statecraft as she prepares to host the crowned heads of Europe for a diplomatic summit; Prince Adam and his wife Belle arrive as envoys of the Emperor, but Adam's past and the history of Armorique catch up to them as Cinderella, Eugene, Belle and Adam must face their most fearsome adversary yet.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This fic uses certain characters and elements from Serena Valentino's tie-in novel_ The Beast Within: A Tale of Beauty's Prince _; overall it isn't a book that I particularly like and I certainly wouldn't want to wholeheartedly embrace it (the Beast considers murdering Belle at one point which just…no. I'm sorry, no) but there are a few things that I like well enough to play around with them in this story: the Odd Sisters, their complicated relationship with Circe the Enchantress, and Princess Tulip Morningstar will all be appearing sooner or later even if I take some liberties with the way I describe what happened compared to the way it is laid out in the book itself._

Prologue: A Bargain From the Past

The night was dark, and the wolves were howling.

King Francis V of Armorique urged his destrier on, ignoring the palpable nervousness of his mount as the horse quailed at the darkness of the moonless night, the sounds of the wild all around them. Though his own heart was faltering too, he tried to pay his fears as little heed as he paid to his horse as he rode down the dirt road towards the dark and empty crossroads.

King Francis was not a man much given to fear. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a lantern-jaw and a fine, muscular physique; he not only Armorique's king but one of its greatest knights, indeed one of the greatest knights in all of Christendom. At the tourney to celebrate the wedding of Prince Philip of Anjou to Princess Aurora of Aquitaine Francis had overthrown all challengers, and only been unhorsed in the final tilt by Prince Philip himself. He was not a man who feared.

But now, as he rode through the night unaccompanied by guards or escort, Francis felt more than a twinge of fear. It was a dark thing he did, with consequences he could not foresee. As the wolves howled in the woods on either side of the road, as his horse trembled with palpable nervousness, Francis felt the urge to turn away from this course, to turn from the crossroads before he reached the place and the three who waited for him there, to turn away from this.

But he did not turn away. He could not turn away. This was the only road that he could take, the only thing that he could do.

Very little would have compelled Francis to seek out the three sisters but for his queen, Mahaut, he would dare worse by far. He had been wed to her since he was seventeen years old and she was sixteen, betrothed to her since he was six and she was five; the match had been arranged for him by his father when Francis was a boy and she was a duchess whose own father had tragically passed away. But, though the match had been made to bring the crown of Armorique her lands and wealth, Francis had come to love his delicate queen, whose blue eyes shone and whose radiance drove away the shadows of the court he had inherited from his father.

Now she was nineteen, and with child, and gravely ill. The court physician had attended to her, and so had every doctor that Francis could summon to her side. None of them could help her. None of them could even tell him for certain what was wrong with her. They told him that there was nothing they could do; nothing he could do but watch helplessly as the queen he loved grew wasted away before his eyes and slipped daily further away from him, taking their child with her.

But they were wrong, the physicians and the doctors were wrong when they told him there was nothing he could do. If God and medicine alike had failed him then he could seek out older powers and see what they could do.

For Mahaut, he could not do otherwise.

Francis arrived at the crossroads. It was nothing to look at, remarkable only for the fact that there was nothing here: no inn to house the weary traveller, no incipient hamlet sprouted up at the connection between the roads, certainly no church, not even a shrine for pilgrims. There was just the X formed by the criss-crossing of two dirt roads, one heading north-south and the other east-west. The crossroads sat in a clearing, surrounded by woods on all sides, and in the woods the wolves were howling.

Francis shivered, and hoped the beasts found something else to hunt tonight.

He waited, his brown eyes scanning the darkness. He saw nothing. There was no one here but himself. He waited. The legends said that one did not need to call, to summon, to do anything to bring them here. Simply come to the crossroads, and they would appear. If they wished to do so.

He didn't know what he would do if they did not come. No other avenues remained to him.

He heard a sound, and for a moment he thought it was a scream. No, not a scream, he realised as he looked away from the crossroads and into the woods from whence the sound had come, a screech: the screeching of an owl in the night as it descended upon the hapless field mouse.

Francis cursed himself. It was just an owl. He was becoming as jumpy as frog.

When he looked back at the crossroads, he saw them there.

There were three of them, as he had known there would be. The three sisters; the odd sisters; the sister witches; they had many names and even more legends. The tales that were told of them and of their powers but terrifying, but now Francis found that what would once have frightened him now gave him hope. Surely they, with all their magic – however dark that magic might be – could save his queen?

If they could not, he did not know what he would do.

He tried to urge his horse closer to them, but the creature would not budge. In fact it seemed as though it wanted to bolt from this place; the poor creature was quivering in fear, and a sound that was almost like a whimper echoed from the horse's mouth.

Francis patted it on the neck as he dismounted. With his free hand he briefly touched the cross engraved in the pommel of his sword he before he began to walk forward, his footsteps soft upon the dirt, towards the sister witches.

They were strange and eerie things to look upon. They did not look old, in fact rather he would have said that there was something ageless about their faces as though time's touch did not ravage them as it did mere mortals. Their hair was black, arranged in perfect ringlets that framed their faces and decorated with the feathers of ravens and crows; feathers too adorned the rich black gowns of silk and velvet that clung to their bodices before flowing out extravagantly at the skirt. But their faces…he found he could not look at their faces for too long; it was better for him to look at their hair or at their bodies garbed in black than it was for Francis to try and look at those haunting faces, with mouths that were far too small and gleaming green eyes that were far, far too large. They were the like a terrible artist's representation of a human face, all sense of proportion fled, all understanding gone; they had women's faces as depicted by someone who had never seen a woman in their lives but only heard them described in the tales of travellers returned from distant lands.

And he would carry them in his mind for the rest of his days.

He did not know their names, nor would he have had any way of telling them apart if he had known them, but it seemed to matter not to the three sisters for they began to speak without waiting for anything so banal or mundane as introductions.

"Hail, Francis, that are the King of Armorique," one said.

"Hail, Francis, most puissant knight and warrior," said another.

"Hail, Francis, that are husband to Queen Mahaut…for the moment," said the last. Their tones were high-pitched, and rich with an undercurrent of bitter mockery that all his titles and his martial prowess was not enough to save his wife; for that he must come to them.

"Tell us, Francis, king and knight and husband, what business do you have with us this night?" one asked.

 _Angels and ministers of grace defend me,_ Francis prayed. He swallowed. "My wife is sick."

"We know," said one.

"We see all," said another.

"This is not news to us," said the third.

Francis breathed out. His breath turned to mist in the cold air. He shivered. "Will she…will Mahaut die?"

The three witches hummed, and though the sound they made was concordant it also sent a shiver down Francis' spine.

"The Queen of Armorique will perish ere her child is born," said the first witch. "Unless something is done."

"Can something be done?" Francis asked. "Can…can you save her?"

They laughed, all three of them throwing back their heads and letting their cackling rise into the starry shroud that lay above them.

"Can we save her?" repeated the first as though the question was the best joke she had heard all year.

"Foolish mortal!" scolded the second. "We are the sisters three!"

"We are the most powerful of witches," declared the third. "Now that Maleficent is no more."

"We can save the queen, of course we can," said the first witch. "The question you should be asking, King of Armorique, is not can we save her…but will we?"

Francis' mouth was dry. Of course they would come to this. He had not expected these creatures to help Mahaut out of the goodness of their hearts, if they even had hearts. "What would you have of me?"

Silence hung in the night air for a moment, as the odd sisters stared at him with their over-large eyes and said nothing.

"A child," said the first witch. "We will save Queen Mahaut, and if she is delivered of a little girl, then that girl you shall deliver up to us to be our property hereafter."

"A child," Francis repeated. "What do you want with a baby girl?"

"It is not for you to question us, our whims or our desires!" the first witch snarled, her eyes flashing with anger. "This is our bargain, King of Armorique; accept its terms, or build a tomb and find another wife to bear you heirs!"

Francis hesitated, his breath misting in front of his face as he considered…if Mahaut lived then he might have to rip her babe from her breast…but she would never bear a child if she perished of this mysterious illness. "What if the child is a boy? What then?"

"Then all the kings who follow in your footsteps shall be bound to this fate," the first witch declared. The winds began to rise around them, blowing in Francis' face while the hair and gowns of the three witches were untouched.

"Our bargain shall endure with every first-born son of the line of kings," cried the second witch.

"And the first to be blessed with a daughter shall give them up to us, in fulfilment of this pact," said the third.

"Do you accept these terms, Francis, king and knight and husband?" they demanded, speaking in unison now. "Do you accept, and by accepting save your wife?"

"Yes!" the word leapt out of Francis' mouth; it was a monstrous thing to agree to, to either give up his daughter to these sisters or else bind his descendants to a deal from which they had gained nothing, but he had no choice. He could not lose Mahaut, without her he would as like to perish himself. "Yes," he repeated, as the wind died down once more. "I agree."

"Then return to your castle," the first witch said. "Your wife will be saved by the time you return."

"So soon?"

"A bargain is a bargain," the second witch said.

"But one more thing," added the third. "The ring upon your finger. Give it to me, as a token of a bargain well struck."

Francis glanced down at his right hand. He wore a ring upon his little finger, with a small sapphire upon it; it was no great thing, but it had been a gift from his wife…she might be upset that he had given it away, but at least she would be alive to be upset.

He plucked the ring from his finger and tossed it to the witch who had demanded it. She caught it with one hand.

"Much obliged, my king," she said, before she began to giggle as though she had made a great jest.

The owl screeched in the trees once more, and by the time the sound faded the sisters had vanished from his sight.

King Francis mounted his horse and galloped home in all haste, and when he returned to his windswept castle by the sea he was told that the Queen had begun to suddenly recover from his sickness; it was inexplicable, they said; miraculous, they said.

And Francis said nothing, though the truth gnawed at him like a beast in his stomach devouring him from the inside out.

Only to one person did he confess what he had done on that night: good Queen Aurora of Aquitaine. The old kings, Stefan and Hubert, had vested themselves of crowns and thrones, conveying them on the younger strengths of their two children, hastening the union of the realms of Aquitaine and Anjou while they – and Queen Leah – crawled towards death in comfortable idleness, attended by retainers, visited frequently by their loving children and retaining the titles and dignities of kings and queen even if they had cast off the accompanying cares and responsibilities. And so King Francis rode to Aquitaine, the heart of chivalry and romance, where Queen Aurora presided over the Courts of Love and adjudged all matters of the heart with a fair hand and a keen insight.

"I apologise that my husband is not here to receive you, my lord," Aurora said, as she and Francis walked together through the luxurious gardens of her castle. "But King Philip is away in Anjou; as much as it pains us both to be separated, he must return to his own lands from time to time." She sighed, as if even to be apart from her consort was a suffering difficult for her to bear, before she said, "Forgive me, King Francis, I doubt that you have come so far only to suffer my melancholy over such a thing, especially after your own ordeal. May I congratulate you on Queen Mahaut's recovery?"

"I…thank you, my lady," Francis said, as her words struck his heart like a dagger. "But I fear I do not deserve to be congratulated."

He poured out his heart to Aquitaine's gentle queen, confessing to her where he had gone and what he had done and to what he might have bound his descendants if Mahaut gave him a son instead of a daughter.

"My lady, you are renowned for judging questions of the heart," Francis said. "And so, I ask you, did I do right? Had I the right to do what I did? Can you forgive me?"

"You have done nothing that I could forgive you for."

"You are the only person I can confess this too to ask forgiveness."

Aurora looked at him for a moment. "King Francis, do you love your wife."

"With all my heart."

"Then you did the right thing," Aurora said. "You saved the one you loved. Nothing is more important than that."

"But what of the cost?"

Aurora smiled. "The bargain you have struck may seem a cruel one; it is a cruel one, as my own could tell you and I…if anyone demanded that I give up Eleanor to them…but it is only cruel if it is fulfilled."

"What do you mean, my lady?"

Aurora continued, "My lord, although it may seem a little thing, I beg you to take me seriously when I tell you to have faith. Please, believe me when I say that even the direst-seeming curse can be broken, and even the most powerful witch can be thwarted in her will. Take heart, King Francis; take heart and trust that those who come after you will fight for their children, just as you have fought for your wife."

* * *

It was not long after that Queen Mahaut of Armorique was taken to the birthing bed and delivered of a healthy son, whom his parents named Louis. Although the marriage of Francis and Mahaut was long and happy, Prince Louis was their only child before they died, peacefully and of old age. It was a curious fact of history that for centuries after no king or crown prince of Armorique ever had aught but sons. Daughters would spring from lesser branches of the line, but never from the direct succession to the throne. Only boys sprung from the loins of Armorique until Eugene, Prince of Rennes and heir to the throne, was given twin girls, the princesses Isabelle and Annabelle, by his wife and princess Cinderella.


	2. Circe Xenios

Circe Xenios

 _Shortly before the birth of the infant princesses…_

It was Christmas Day in Armorique, and the clocks had just struck seven.

As the sun had set and the sky was dark, it might have been more accurate to say that it was Christmas night. Regardless, it was the twenty-fifth of December and the clocks had just struck seven, including the great clock mounted to the central tower that rose from the great palace that dominated the town like a mountain.

Jean Taurillion emerged from the guardhouse beside the wrought-iron gate, swathed in a dark blue greatcoat, with a hand-knitted scarf wrapped around his neck and a pair of kidskin gloves to keep the worst of the cold away from his hands. He thumped said hands together, regardless, for a little extra warmth.

It had been snowing earlier today, and though the sky had cleared up now and very little snow still lay on the ground – on the palace grounds at least, he could not say what it was like elsewhere in the capital – the air was bitter cold nevertheless. His breath misted up before his face, and he felt the bite of the wind upon his cheeks.

He thumped his hands together again, and started to whistle a tune as he stomped up and down in front of the gate.

His whistling was interrupted as he heard a piteous groaning sound on the other side of the gate.

The gate was wrought iron, but not solid: the days when the palace gates might have to keep out the battering rams of an invading army were long gone. The iron bars made a pattern like a thorn-bush but you could see out through them to whatever might lie on the other side; or at least you could when the sun was out. Now, with night have long since settled upon the land, Jean had to walk closely to the gate and peer out into the darkness beyond.

The cry came again, and this time he thought he could see someone moving amidst the shadows not far away.

"Who's there?" he called. "Do you require assistance?"

A shambling figure crept out of the dark; an old woman, bent double so that her back seemed nearly hunched, swathed in a threadbare dark cloak which she clutched about her with aged and withered hands.

"Shelter," she groaned as she walked towards the gate with tottering steps. "Shelter, good sir, I beg you; shelter from the bitter cold."

"Hold on, old Madame." Jean's hands were already moving to unlock the gate before he hauled one side of it open, his hands and arms straining at the wrought iron bars which creaked and groaned as he pulled upon them. Once he had opened them enough to let him out, Jean jogged through the gap he had created and reached the old woman, holding out his hands to support her before she fell. "Here, madame, lean on me a little if you will."

She looked up at him, her hood falling a little to reveal a face that was lined with years; one of her eyes was nearly swollen shut, her nose was hooked and her chin stuck out nearly as far as her nose. Her white hair was thinning upon her head.

 _Poor woman, has she nowhere to go on such a night as this?_

"Come, madame," Jean said, as he began to help her along. "I will lead the way."

"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice breathless with exertion. "I…I need only a night's shelter from the chill air, and then I will be gone. I have little to offer but-"

"None of that now, madame," Jean said firmly, as he led her in the gate then close and locked it behind them both. "There is no cost to decency, and there ought be no charge for it either as my mother used to say. Into the guardhouse with you now, and warm yourself by the fire."

The guardhouse was large enough for three or four men to sit comfortably, but at present it was empty until Jean returned with his new and unexpected visitor. He chaperoned the old woman to a seat by the fire – and he put a couple of extra logs on to make it burn a little brighter for her – before he took off his greatcoat and held it out to her in silent offering.

"You are very kind, young man," she said, taking the coat with one trembling hand before wrapping herself up in it like a blanket.

"A nip of brandy, to keep out the cold?" Jean offered. He gestured at the table, laden with the remains of his supper. "I'm afraid I cannot leave my post to get food from the kitchens, but there is still plenty left to eat I have not touched."

"A brandy would be very nice, but I have no need of your food," the old woman said, right before her stomach rumbled as loud as a galloping squadron of horses.

Jean chuckled. "I think your belly disagrees with you, madame," he said, before he poured her a nip of brandy and pushed it across the wooden table towards her. He began to assemble some semblance of a meal together out of what there was: a slice of turkey, two slices of pork, a sausage, stuffing. It was all cold, but it had been cold when it had been set before him, the remains of dinner that had not been eaten at the banqueting table. It was still better than many people ate in Armorique on Christmas Day. "What is your name, Madame?" he asked, as he put these things together.

"Circe," she said softly, her voice seemingly unable to rise above a whisper. "My name is Circe." She drank her brandy, and made an appreciative sound after.

"Circe," Jean repeated. It was an unusual name, to be sure, but what of that? "Welcome, Madame Circe. Allow me to introduce myself in turn: I have the honour to be Jean Taurillion, Count of Nantes and Lieutenant of the Second Battalion of His Majesty's Foot Guards."

Circe made a sound that might have been a chuckle, it was hard to tell. "I am honoured. But tell me, what is a count and a lieutenant of the Foot Guards doing guarding the gate all alone on Christmas Day?"

Jean shrugged as he pushed a plate of food across the table. "The duty sergeant has a wife and three small children," he said, as he refilled her cup with another brandy. "Of the two privates who drew the duty one is engaged to be married and the other has a sick mother. They should be with their families at Christmas."

"And what of your family?" Circe asked. "Or have you none?"

"I?" Jean smiled a little as he settled down into a chair across the table from where the old woman sat. He joined her in warming his hands by the fire. "I can see my Angelique any time I wish, any day that I wish. As an officer I get paid more than my men, and by the grace and generosity of her highness I have lands and incomes besides. This is little enough hardship. And besides, this nation is at peace with her neighbours and at home the royal family are beloved of all their subjects. No one is going to attack the palace, least of all on this holiday."

Circe made a wordless sound. "Many royal families like to think themselves beloved of their subjects, but sometimes the subjects themselves disagree in that regard."

"Not here," Jean said firmly. "Princess Cinderella is the realm's delight; there is not a man or woman in Armorique who does not pray for her health and that of her children who are soon to be born. Already she has done so much for this country, I can scarcely imagine all the good that she will do in the long years ahead…when they are king and queen Prince Eugene and Princess Cinderella will lead this land into a golden age of fairness and prosperity, I have no doubt. Not one."

"I believe you, your words have sincerity in them," Circe said, although for some reason she sounded a little sad when she said it. "And this, this Angelique whom you can whenever you wish. Is she your sister? Or your love?"

"Angelique…" Jean hesitated, and instinctually his hand went to the ring in his pocket.

"Ah, I see," Circe said. "You hesitate?"

Jean smiled apologetically. "It seemed a fine romantic thing to propose to her on Christmas Day, but somehow…the moment has never seemed quite right."

Circe smiled at him, the gesture suffusing her old face with warmth. "You must forgive an old woman her prying, lieutenant; old woman have very little to do but ask questions."

"It is no trouble," Jean said. "And what of you, Madame Circe? Have you nowhere to go that you must wander from door to door seeking a little shelter? Have you no family to take you in, tonight of all nights?"

"No," Circe said, and for a moment her face and voice alike became filled with melancholy. "I had three sisters once, but...no more. I have no family now."

"You have my sympathies, Madame," Jean said, as he tried and failed to imagine what it might be like to be all alone in the world; although he had been cold and hungry in his life before he had never been alone, he had always had Angelique beside him. To be without her, without anyone...he could not comprehend how terrible that would be except to realise that it would be terrible. He sighed. "I wish there was more that I could do for you than let you warm yourself by my fire."

"It is enough," Circe replied. "Not all would be so kind to an old hag come to their door in the night."

"I was not always a lord, or an officer of the guard," Jean said. "Once we slept under starlight, Angelique and I; once we shivered in the cold, went to bed with our bellies empty, held out our hands to beg for coin. It was not so long ago that I've forgotten what it was like. That, and...I do not think her highness would wish me to be unkind, today of all days." Last Christmas, her highness had spent the morning visiting all the orphanages to bring gifts to the children there, as well as donations to the orphanages themselves; this year she was too heavily pregnant for so much exertion - with the babies due any day now her doctors said it was not advisable - but she had come to the gate and distributed alms to the poor there; it was a pity that Madame Circe had not come then in time to receive some.

"Fascinating," Circe murmured. "So tell me, how does an orphan and a street urchin become a lord, and an officer of the guard?"

"By the grace of the princess," Jean said. "All that I have I have of her; as unworthy as I am she has raised me up and trusted me with her life; she has given me a place, a title, a home...a future."

"And you love her for it," Circe said.

"The princess...is of a kind deserving of the love of better men than me," Jean said. "And I would have to be more churlish than I am not to appreciate her needless generosity."

The sound of footsteps tapping on the stones outside caused Jean to rise to his feet; he was almost to the guardhouse door when he was confronted by Angelique coming the other way, wrapped in a cloak of pale blue with a mink fur trim.

She had her hood up, but lowered it as she stood in the doorway, revealing a pale face framed by dirty blonde curls. She smiled up at him. "I came down to see how you were getting on down here alone..." Angelique glanced past Jean to Circe, who was presently gumming her way through a slice of cold pork loin. "Or not alone, as the case may be; hello."

Circe swallowed. "Good evening, my child. Dare I suggest that you are Angelique?"

Angelique glanced knowingly up at Jean as he retreated to admit her to the guardhouse. "What's he been telling you?"

Jean saw Circe's gaze flicker briefly to the pocket where the ring now felt heavier than it had done before, but she said only, "Little enough, but it would speak rather ill of Angelique if you were not her, and yet you had come down from the palace to visit him and she had not."

Angelique snorted. "Well, fortunately for myself I am Angelique, Angelique Bonnet. And you, Madame?"

"Circe is my name," Circe said. "Your friend was kind enough to offer me shelter from the cold inside this guardhouse."

"I see," Angelique said, in a tone of voice that might politely be described as cautious. Her blue eyes narrowed a little as she sat down opposite Circe and began to take off her mittens. "You'll forgive me for saying that it's a little strange that you chose to make your way up here on a night like this for the...dubious possibility of shelter at the end of it."

Circe smiled. "Are you telling me I should have gone to the workhouse, my child?"

"I'm not your child," Angelique said flatly. "As for the workhouse...I don't blame you one bit for wanting nothing to do with the place if you can avoid it, but...at least you'd know they'd take you in for certain. You couldn't have known that here, and it's a long walk."

"Perhaps I simply had hope that the practice of giving hospitality to those in need of it was not completely dead," Circe replied.

"Or perhaps you came here with a purpose in mind," Angelique said.

"Angelique," Jean said. "There's no need to like that."

Angelique sighed. "Jean, you know as well as I do how many of the people who have found their way up here have turned out to be evil little beggars who mean harm to Princess Cinderella and I for one am getting sick and tired of it!" She almost glared at Circe from across the table. "I'm sorry, but my trust has been worn away by repeated betrayals."

Circe chuckled. "Do you look at me and think I'm dangerous? Is a cold old woman such a danger to the princess of the land?"

Angelique leaned forwards. "Not too long ago a woman came here: a shepherdess, so she seemed; she'd saved the princess' life…from a danger she'd caused herself." She frowned. "She was more dangerous than she seemed. Far more dangerous. A witch." Angelique hesitated. "That doesn't seem to surprise you."

Circe laughed. "What should I say? Does it surprise you that I know that there are mysteries in the world beyond the comprehension of men? That I know that the old powers linger still in the shadows and the deep places? I am sorry that you can no longer trust-"

"I can trust," Angelique replied. "I trust Jean with my life, I trust Cinderella to do the right thing even if it isn't the wise thing, I trust the people I know well enough to predict what they'll do; but I don't know you, and since I don't know you I can't trust you. I'm sorry if that upsets you but that's the way it is."

"Because I might hurt your princess?"

Angelique nodded. "Because you might try to."

Circe nodded her head in turn, slowly and thoughtfully. "You care for her very much, don't you?"

Angelique pursed her lips together, and her mouth twisted. "She has to put up with a lot of things that she doesn't deserve. People have tried to hurt her, kill her, shame her, slander her, take her crown and her marriage away from her; there's a party going on up at the palace, right now, and I'll wager there are still people up there who hate her, who call her a servant girl behind her back; that's why I came down here, I'd rather spend my night with Jean than with those insincere…" she trailed off, and fell silent for a moment. "But Cinderella puts up with all of it, so well you'd almost think that it didn't affect her at all. After everything she's been through she can still smile, and look forward to tomorrow with hope.

"I didn't have any hope before I met her; not for me, not for Jean, not for anything, I just…Cinderella has given me hope, she's given me a reason to believe that tomorrow might be better than today. Yes, I care about her. She's the best person I know and so many people can't see it. I care about her and I want to see her safe and if that means that I don't trust everybody who makes their way to the gates then so be it!"

"Angelique?" Cinderella asked. "Why are you shouting?"

Jean and Angelique both got to their feet at the sight of the princess standing in the doorway, with Prince Eugene by her side with one arm around the waist of his wife. Cinderella was dressed in white, in a gown with a high-waistline that showed off her swelling baby bump beneath; her shoulders were wrapped in a stole of silver-fox fur, while a white muff concealed both her hands from view. She walked slowly, even with the steadying influence of Prince Eugene's hand around her waist. The firelight glimmered off the sapphire heart that sat proudly in the centre of the pearls clasped around her throat.

For a moment both Jean and Angelique were rendered speechless by the sight of her come down amongst them, before Jean found his voice first. "Your highnesses! Princess, should you be here?" His tone of voice made it quite clear that he considered the answer to be 'no'.

Cinderella sighed in that way she had acquired in pregnancy of suggesting that, in as far as someone and kind and gentle as she could possibly be annoyed, she was annoyed at the continual fussing over her health. "I'm pregnant, Jean, not an invalid. I wanted to make sure that you are alright down here by yourself."

"That is very kind, your highness, but wholly unnecessary," Jean said. "If you slipped on a patch of ice or caught a chill I would never forgive myself; and besides, I fear that Angelique has beaten you to it."

Cinderella chuckled. "I thought she might, but we wanted to check up on you anyway, didn't we darling?"

Prince Eugene sounded a trifle amused as he said, "Yes, we must let the valiant sentinel know that his efforts are appreciated."

Jean bowed his head. "The praise of the praiseworthy is above all rewards, your highness."

"How do you feel, princess?" Angelique asked.

"I'm fine," Cinderella said. "Well, perhaps a little tired from walking down here."

"Please, highness, take a seat and recover yourself," Jean said, picking up a chair and carrying it towards her. Prince Eugene helped her to sit down. "Is there anything that I can get for you?"

"I'll go," Angelique said. "You're supposed to be on guard, remember?"

"No, thank you, Jean, thank you Angelique," Cinderella said. "I just need to catch my breath for a moment."

"Take as much time as you need," Prince Eugene said. "The party will keep until you're up to the walk back."

Cinderella smiled at them all, and it seemed that it was only then that, as she looked around the guardhouse that she seemed to notice Circe sitting by the fire. "Oh! Oh, please forgive me, Madame, I didn't see you or I would have-"

"You have no need to apologise to me, your highness," Circe said. "I am just a humble old woman, after all, and you are the princess of the land and the realm's delight."

Cinderella looked a little embarrassed at the use of that term. "That's…really only something the newspapers decided to call me, I never asked them to. And anyway, that's no excuse for rudeness, I really am sorry. I should have introduced myself."

"I'm afraid that everyone calling you 'your highness' gave it away," Circe said wryly. "My name is Circe, and Lieutenant Taurillion was good enough to let me shelter here from the cold since I have nowhere else to go. Lady Bonnet has proved a little more suspicious."

"Angelique?" Cinderella asked, looking at her.

Angelique stood foursquare under the princess' slightly disapproving gaze without flinching. "More newcomers to this palace have turned out to be your enemies than your friends, princess; I cannot forget that or ignore it, even if you can."

Cinderella continued to stare up at her, her muff-embraced hands moving to below her baby bump. "I'm a little disappointed, Angelique. I thought you had more compassion than this."

Now Angelique flinched, if only a little. "I have compassion," she relied. "But I also have caution."

Cinderella looked away, and back towards Circe. "Madame, is there nowhere at all where you can go?"

"No," Circe replied. "I…I have nowhere, now."

"Then you must stay the night here, at least," Cinderella said. "You cannot sleep in this guardhouse; Eugene, will you go tell the servants to prepare one of the guest rooms. I'd go myself but-"

"Of course," Eugene said, with a slight smile playing across his face as he bent down to kiss the princess on the temple. "I'll see it arranged straight away."

"That will not be necessary," Circe said. She began to get to her feet, and was it Jean's imagination or did she seem taller than she had been before, the stoop of her back falling away before his eyes.

"What?" Cinderella murmured. "But, you can't-"

A bright and brilliant light erupted from the old woman, and in that light so bright it was as if a star had descended down from heaven to join them in this post beside the gate, the form of the old woman melted away like so much snow before their eyes.

And before them, as they stared in sudden silent awed amazement, stood a beautiful woman. Tall, she was, taller than Cinderella or Angelique, taller even than Lady Christine who was the loftiest of the princess' ladies; she seemed taller still by the fact that she was floating a foot off the ground. She was garbed in a gown of flowing emerald green with long, baggy sleeves and a full skirt with billowed around her as though there were some wind that only she could feel. Her hair was spun gold, and it too danced around her as though caught by the strains of some ethereal breeze. A crown of stars was set upon her brow, and they gleamed as brightly as her eyes of shining silver.

"What in God's name," Prince Eugene muttered.

"I apologise for the deception," she declared, in a voice that rang like the peeling of all the bells that had run in Armorique this Christmas day. "But I have found that the true measure of hospitality is whether it is offered to the poor, the old, the lonely and, yes, the hideous to look upon. It is necessary to deceive in order that I may see past the deceits that others practice."

"Who," Angelique's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Who are you?"

"My name, as I told you, is Circe," Circe said. "I fear that you spoke truer than you know when you talked of witches." A wand of elder wood appeared in her right hand. "For I am an enchantress, and like Zeus before me I travel the world in the guise of an old hag, begging the mighty for their hospitality and observing whether they uphold the sacred customs and possess love and charity within their hearts."

Jean felt his mouth grow suddenly dry. A shiver ran down his spine. "And…and if they don't?"

"Then I must reprimand them, appropriately to their faults," Circe said, and she sounded almost melancholy as she said it.

Angelique dropped to her knees. "Then punish me," she said, her voice ringing out with a speed born out of desperation. "I have insulted you and rejected you, and I don't apologise for it. But you cannot make the princess or Jean or anyone else suffer on account of what I did. They don't deserve it. If someone must be punished for my actions then the punishment should fall on me, and me alone." She looked up into the enchantress's face. "I beg of you, don't hurt them."

Jean stepped forward, and he opened his mouth to offer to share whatever punishment Angelique had incurred if, by halving it, the severity of whatever fell on her could be mitigated. Before he could speak so much as a word however, the voice of Circe had silenced all other speech.

"Peace, Jean Taurillion; Angelique Bonnet, be at ease; though you were full of suspicion, it cannot be denied that you had cause and might be said, in some way, to have been correct. Besides, all that you did and said was said and done from love of your princess, and deeds done in love, though they be upon times over zealous…I do not have it in my heart to judge." She turned her moonlit gaze upon Cinderella. "Princess Cinderella, I confess that I had heard rumours of your virtue, and wondered that they could be true and not just tales that you spread of yourself to impress the credulous; but hearing what I have heard and seeing what I have seen…" she smiled. "Rejoice, Princess of Rennes; rejoice not only in the love that is within your heart but the love that you inspire in others, which makes them more full of love in turn. Rejoice, and as you are remain." Her smile broadened. "Your children will be well-blessed to have such a loving mother."

Cinderella gasped, her blue eyes were wide. "I…I don't know what to say."

"There is nothing more to be said, there is nothing more to be done," Circe declared. "A merry Christmas to you all, and fare you well," Her smiled became somewhat sly. "Oh, and one last thing: Angelique, Jean has something that he wishes to give to you." She winked at him as though she had just done him a great kindness. "Farewell!" the word 'farewell' echoed off the walls of the guardhouse as, with a flash of light, she disappeared. Only the food that she had eaten and the brandy that she had drunk testified that she had ever been there at all.

Only the food and drink and the indelible impression she had left in the minds of all concerned.

"Extraordinary," Eugene murmured. "Absolutely extraordinary. I don't…extraordinary."

"I know what you mean," Cinderella said. "I…I'm not…" she let out a little gasped, and slumped backwards a little in her chair.

Jean offered a hand to help Angelique up.

"Thank you," Angelique said, as she climbed to her feet. "So, what's this you want to give me then?"

Jean felt his face begin to burn. This wasn't exactly how he had imagined this…but then again he hadn't actually gotten around to doing it the way that he'd imagined it and left to his own devices who knew when he might have found the courage to actually get around to it? Perhaps Circe had done him a kindness after all.

Conscious – as much as he tried not to be – of the prince and princess watching him from behind, Jean got down on one knee and pulled out the ring. It was a single sapphire set in a halo of diamonds upon a band of silver on which the firelight danced reflected as he held it up.

"Angelique," he said, while he heard the princess gasp in pleasant surprise behind him. "My…my other half of my soul…" he had thought to prepare a speech for this moment but now that the moment had come he found that he could not remember it save for disconnected fragments which floated through his mind, making little sense. "My better…Angelique Bonnet, will you marry me?"

Angelique looked down at him for a moment, her face unreadable. Then a smile blossomed there like the blooming of a rose.

"Course I will you fool," she said. "Did you have a doubt?"

She did not take the ring off him; but she did pull him into a hug and kiss him, which probably amounted to about the same thing.

* * *

 _Author's Note: So…this is a bit of a retcon from the last fic, I admit; but it isn't a huge one (it doesn't really contradict anything from the end of the Realm's Delight…I think) and I really like the idea of the enchantress (by the way, I didn't make up the name Circe, it's the name she was given in_ The Beast Within _) paying Cinderella a visit before she gets involved in the story proper later on._

 _This is kind of a second prologue before the story really begins; next chapter will be the first proper look at Belle and Adam._


	3. The Imperial Offer

_Singertobe: The names for all the different kingdoms are pretty much real names, sometimes altered a little bit, sometimes not. Armorique comes from Armorica, the ancient name for that bit of North-West France that includes Brittany. Normandie is just Normandy with an –ie instead of a –y. Aquitaine and Anjou are both real places, although neither were kingdoms in their own right._

The Imperial Offer

Some people might have found it a curious castle where the lady of the house, who was not really a lady at all, was being helped to dress by someone who had once been a world-renowned opera singer.

For Belle, it was far less curious than the fact that she had once been helped to dress by the wardrobe herself.

The thought amused her briefly, as Madame de Garderobe helped garb her in what was quite possibly the most extravagant dress that she had ever seen. Too extravagant, surely, with more roses than many rose gardens and more pearls than could be found in the Indian Ocean.

It was a beautiful sight to behold, a golden bodice and expansive peplum over a pale yellow skirt embroidered with a flower pattern, sleeves ending at the elbow in three layers of lace cuffs, and of course roses – two layers of roses, each layer two roses thick – not only lining the peplum but also climbing up it towards her waistline. And pearls, so many pearls hanging in descending, looping strands from her off-the-shoulder collar, between and from the roses that were all around her peplum, some of them almost touching the floor.

She would probably rattle when she walked.

 _At least nobody will be able to say that I snuck up on them._

"Are you sure that this is a good idea, Madame?" Belle asked, in such a tone as to suggest that she, for one, was not at all sure.

Madame de Garderobe stopped what she was doing – fastening Belle in up the back of the dress – and looked over her shoulder into the reflection in the mirror. "Don't you like it, dear? I think you stunning."

"No, it's very nice," Belle said quickly. "I'm just not sure that wearing it tonight is a good idea."

Madame de Garderobe smiled sympathetically as she placed her hands upon Belle's shoulders. "Whatever they call you, whatever title you have or don't have, you are the master's wife and mistress of this castle. Which means that in this castle you may dress as you like, as extravagantly as you please, and never mind what they say. And who knows, it might even impress them."

Belle couldn't help but snort at the idea. "If I wanted to impress them I'd have to find myself some new ancestors," she said.

The fact that Madame de Garderobe had no reply to that told Belle that she knew it just as well. All the singer turned sometime lady's maid said was, "Well, I doubt it would impress them any more if you were to dress plainly so as to humble yourself before them. Since you can't please them you may as well please yourself. So, if you don't like it, we can find easily find you something else."

"No," Belle said. "As you say, if I can't please them then I must please myself." She had always been good at that, after all: pleasing herself, even when she couldn't please anybody else. It had always been so in the village, and it would be so here as well. These lords and queens and arch-duchesses were no different from the baker and the fish-monger and the tavern-keeper back in the little town she had called home; aristocratic small-mindedness was distinguished from provincial small-mindedness by so little as to be indistinguishable by she who was or had been on the receiving end of both. She had survived that, and she would survive this.

But, oh, how she wished that she didn't have to.

 _Was this what I wanted?_ No; well, not really, but at the same time it couldn't be denied that she had got what she wanted: love, a good man who saw her for what she was and adored her for it without demanding that she change anything about who she was or what she was to better fit with his view of the world. She had even gone further and done better than that, and she had for the most part found a place where she could be herself without fear; a place where she was respected, even liked, a place where she didn't have to be afraid.

But then there were times like these when very little of that became true, when the love of a good man was not enough, when the place that she now called home seemed less of a place she could rely on.

She loved Adam. Belle had loved him – or come to love him at least – when he was a horned and shaggy-haired monster and she loved him now that he was a handsome man; and he loved her, or had come to love her in his turn. They had wooed and won each other, and their hearts were entwined forever more.

But the laws of the Holy Roman Empire were as cold as iron, as merciless as the wolves that prowled the forests around Adam's ancient castle and stronger than he had ever been while in the grip of the curse. They cared nothing for love, for belonging, for the fact that they were meant to be together nor even for the fact that she had saved him from a curse. They cared only that Belle was not of royal blood, nor even of any noble line that could be named with honour, and that meant that, though he could marry her, though they were equals in one another's eyes, Belle could not be raised up to be his equal in the eyes of the world. Theirs was a morganatic marriage, a marriage by the left hand, and though her husband was a prince she remained just Belle, and while that didn't matter much to Adam or even to Lumiere, Cogsworth or Madame de Garderobe or any of the rest of her dear friends here when they were alone…it mattered a great deal when they had such guests as were now imposing themselves upon the hospitality of the castle.

"Belle?"

Belle abruptly realised that while she had been musing in such a melancholy fashion about the ordeal that awaited her downstairs in the dining room, Madame de Garderobe had finished all the rest of her tasks: her hair was done, her cheeks were blushed, there was a golden choker wrapped around her neck with a miniature red rose upon it. A pair of earrings now hung down from her ears. And she hadn't noticed any of it.

"Forgive me, Madame," Belle said apologetically. "I got lost in thought."

"Actually, it made you very easy to work with on account of how still you were," Madame de Garderobe said, chuckling. "You look-"

"Like a lady," Belle said. She could not restrain the slight sigh within her lips. "Like the lady that I'm not."

"My dear," Madame de Garderobe said. "Let me tell you something very important that I learned in the opera: a princess is not a crown, or a title granted to you by a marriage or a birth-"

Belle quirked one sceptical eyebrow. _I'm sure that that's exactly what a princess is, actually._

"A princess," Madame continued. "Is the feminine ideal given form. That is why her tale is told, that is why her songs are sung, not because she has a title but because she has wit and courage and strength to spare…and beauty without reflecting the beauty within. You may not have a crown but you are the only true princess I have ever met in my life, and I have sung in half the courts of Europe so I know what I'm talking about!"

Belle smiled. "One of these days you'll have to tell me how an incredibly celebrated opera singer ended up in a place like this?"

"How else, but love?"

Belle's smile broadened. "How else indeed? Thank you, Madame, you are very kind."

There was a knock at the door. "Belle? Can I come in?"

"Yes," Belle said, and she turned around to face said door just as Adam opened it; the prince of the Franche-Comte was wearing a white jacket, with a red waistcoat underneath that made him look little like a robin, while across one shoulder he wore a scarlet sash on which were pinned the stars and medals of various chivalric orders of _die alte Reich_.

He stared at her for a moment. "…wow."

Belle couldn't keep the smile of her face. "I'm glad that someone else appreciates it, at least." The smile faded as quickly as it had sprung to her lips. "Is it time?"

Adam didn't look particularly happy about this either. "I'm afraid so."

Belle picked up her gloves from off the dressing table, and pulled them onto her hands one after the other. "Then there's no point putting it off, is there?"

 _I have always been an outcast; I survived it before, I will survive it now._

She followed Adam out into the corridor, where he offered her his arm.

"Thank you," she said, as she placed one hand gently upon his elbow.

"I'm sorry that you have to go through with this," Adam said. "But-"

"I understand, it would cause you trouble if I weren't here tonight," Belle said. For the most part she stayed out of the way of their guests, holing herself up in the library that remained her territory no matter how much else of the castle had to be ceded up to visitors, but she couldn't stay away from dinner without becoming actively rude, and that might cause Adam – might cause them both – problems considering who she would be being rude to. She gestured with her free hand towards the decorations pinned to his sash. "Do you have to wear all of those?"

Adam shrugged apologetically. "They were bestowed upon me by the Emperor when I was a boy, after my father died. It would be an insult not to wear them."

"Did you do anything to earn them?"

Adam smiled wryly. "You know what I was like when I was young, what do you think?"

"Does anyone do anything to earn them?"

"It's possible," Adam said. "But I doubt it." He bent down – even though he was now a man, he was still a tall, broad-shouldered man who dwarfed his wife – and brushed his lips against hers. "But I earned you, and that matters more than any of these baubles." He paused for a moment. "They will be gone soon, and everything will be back to normal."

Belle sighed. "I look forward to that. But for now…now we have to go down, don't we?"

"Yes," Adam said. "I'm afraid we do." And so, with Belle's hand resting upon his arm, the two of them descended down the grand staircase into the ballroom.

Belle had always considered herself to be an excellent judge of character. Perhaps it made her proud to think so, but she salved her conscience by telling herself that her judgements of people had a tendency to be proved right. She had seen the vile darkness that lay behind Gaston's hairy chest and lantern jaw, and her growing love for Adam had come about not as a result of any growing appreciation for his wild mane or leonine fangs but from the fact that she could perceive his soul changing for the better as though it were happening before her eyes. Yes, Belle thought that she could afford to give herself a little credit as a judge, considering that her judgements had been born out by the actions of those that she had cause to judge.

Which was another reason why she did not like having the presence of their three most notable guests in Adam's castle, the castle that she called home, the castle that she could not but think of as partly hers. Maria Theresa, Dowager Queen and Regent of Bavaria since the untimely death of her husband the late King, and her two younger sisters the Archduchesses Maria Carolina and Maria Sophia, were all beautiful young women whose beauty was enhanced by all the artifice that money could buy but they were wrong. They were wrong in the same way that Gaston had been wrong, and just like him they made Belle's skin crawl just being around them. She might almost have been glad of the fact that protocol would keep them far apart at dinner, except that that meant that she would have to leave Adam at their mercy at the top of the table.

For the rest, officers of the armies of Bavaria and Austria, courtiers and functionaries, there was nothing particularly objectionable about them except that they took their lead from their three mistresses, and they Belle did not trust at all.

Still, it would only be for one night. Just one night.

Belle kept her head up high as she descended the staircase. In this company, coronets might be more than kind hearts, and Habsburg blood than simple faith, but that didn't mean that she had to show them how much they discomfited her.

Cogsworth was standing at the foot of the stairs. He cleared his throat. "Ah-he-hem. His Royal Highness Adam, Prince of the Franche-Comte, and his wife." He gave Belle a thoroughly apologetic glance, to which Belle returned a smile to let him know that she took no offence; she knew that he was only doing what the occasion forced them all to do.

The dowager queen and the two archduchesses were already in the ballroom as Adam and Belle descended the staircase, the three of them dressed in flowing gowns that trailed across the floor behind them. It was Maria Carolina, the middle of the three sisters, with golden hair in curled braids that framed her face, who dashed forwards to meet them as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

Or rather, she dashed forward to meet Adam. As soon as she reached him she pushed Belle out of the way - so violently that it was only because Cogsworth caught her that she didn't fall flat on her rear - and wrapped her hands around Adam's arm.

"Adam!" she cried, purring a little like a self-satisfied cat as she embraced his arm tightly. Her voice was high-pitched and overly sweetened, like a cup of tea with too much sugar added. "You're here! It wasn't very nice of you to keep me waiting." She pouted up at him. "I was worried that something might have happened to you."

"Caroline!" the voice of Queen Maria Theresa cut across the ballroom as the eldest of the three sisters glided, her feet and any sign that she was actually moving her feet one in front of the other, slowly across the ballroom floor. Though she was not old – older than her sisters, Belle and Adam to be sure, but if she was older than twenty-five it could not be significantly so – she had concealed her hair beneath a wig of white curls so luminous they almost seemed to glow like moonlight. She had a fan in one gloved hand, and she flickered it in front of her face, concealing everything below her hazel eyes. "Try to control yourself. A lady does not run, and an archduchess of the Empire most certainly does not do so.

Caroline's pout became even more pronounced. "But Tessa-"

Theresa's fan cracked as she snapped it shut, revealing – for the brief moment before she opened her fan again with another pronounced snapping sound – a scowl of irritation.

Caroline bowed her head. "Your majesty." She let go of Adam with obvious reluctance, and murmured some request for forgiveness at a volume so low that Belle couldn't make out the exact words, but made no move to apologise to Belle.

Nobody seemed to expect her too, not even Belle herself.

"Remember," Theresa said. "That your behaviour reflects upon our father, not just on yourself."

Carolina rolled her eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

Theresa fluttered her fan in front of her face for a moment. "Prince Adam, how nice of you join us." The words 'at last' hung unspoken in the air.

"Forgive me, your majesty, your graces," Adam said, with a bow of his head. "I hope you haven't been waiting too long."

"It matters little, in the scheme of things," Theresa replied briskly. "And you're here now, at least. Come, let us go."

Adam glanced back at Belle, who had recovered her balance, but she silently motioned for him to ignore her.

It was what he would have to do for the rest of dinner, after all.

He frowned, but he did as she had indicated that he should, and turned away. It was the dowager queen's hand that he took, not hers, as he led the gathered guests through into the dining room.

Belle lingered at the back of the crowd, remaining in the ballroom with Cogsworth as the rest of the assembly departed.

"Disgraceful behaviour," Cogsworth muttered. "Are you alright?"

"I am now," Belle said. "Thank you for sparing me the embarrassment of a fall."

"Think nothing of it, nothing at all," Cogsworth said. "What gentleman would do less?"

 _A great many, judging by the conduct of these gentlemen of Bavaria and Austria,_ Belle thought. "I don't mind admitting that I'll be grateful when all this is over."

"You're not alone in that," Cogsworth replied. "Take courage, Madame; we know your worth, even if others do not."

"I know," Belle said. _It's part of why I have the strength to do this._

She went into the dining room, and nobody seemed to notice – or care if they did notice – that she was the last to arrive.

She was just Belle, a nobody amongst old names and grand titles, and so she sat near the bottom of the table amongst the other nobodies desperately hanging on to their positions as part of the court. None of them marked her either, they talked over her and around her as though she did not exist at all.

Mind you, as she glanced upwards to where Adam sat at the head of the table with the dowager queen and her two sisters, it didn't look as though he was having a particularly wonderful time either.

* * *

"When you were a monster, did you eat people?" asked the Archduchess Maria Sophia, youngest of the three sisters. Her hair was short, black, curly and garlanded with roses as white as her dress, although Adam couldn't help but feel that her choice of colour clashed a lot with her interest in his life under the curse. She leaned forwards eagerly, grinning with anticipation.

Adam wasn't sure exactly where to look, so he looked down at the bowl of soup in front of him. "N-no, your grace, I didn't eat anyone."

"Oh," Sophia said, disappointment clear in her voice. "But in the stories monsters are always gobbling people up. Are you sure that you were a monster?"

"Yes," Adam admitted, through gritted teeth. "But I was also a man."

"Oh," Sophia repeated. "Then what did you eat?"

Adam drew in his breath sharply. "I ate meat," he said simply. He didn't really want to talk about how he had hunted animals in the forest like some kind of lion, carrying them back home and eating their flesh off the bone. He suspected that this was the kind of detail that Maria Sophia would have liked to know, but he still didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about how close he had come to losing his humanity before Belle came into his life.

"Did you ever kill anyone?"

Adam hesitated, he could almost hear Gaston's dying scream echoing in his ears. "I would prefer not to talk about such things."

"But I want to know!" Sophia declared petulantly. "It's a simple question, did you ever kill anyone when you were a monster?"

"Leave him alone, Sophie," Carolina said. She placed her hand on his and leaned forward just enough to give him a good view of her cleavage. "Why do you care what he was or did when he was turned a monster? He's not a monster any more. He's a man, a strong and handsome man." She began to stroke his arm.

 _Oh, for goodness' sake!_ Adam pulled his arm away, and struggled to control his temper. Love had gentled him, but there were times when he could still feel the wroth that had so often animated him as a beast threatening to boil up inside of him. He fought to keep it inside, where it belonged. He was a man now, and no longer a monster.

"Your grace," he said, trying not to growl. "I don't know what you think you're doing but I assure you-"

"I hope, Prince Adam, that you are not suggesting that my sister, daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor, King of Hungary, Bohemia and Germany and Archduke of Austria, would have an affair outside the bounds of wedlock?" Theresa demanded from the other side of the table. "Would allow herself to be deflowered like some common tart, even by you?" She smiled. "Of course you're not. You would never be so discourteous to my sister, my father, or myself, would you?"

Adam cleared his throat. "Of course not, your majesty. I would never suggest such a thing about the scion of such a noble line as yours."

"I'm delighted to hear it," Theresa said. "Almost as delighted as I am by this delicious meal, your chef is to be congratulated."

"He will be honoured by the praise of a queen," Adam replied.

"Of course. Who wouldn't be?" Theresa asked. She sipped a little more soup. "Still, very delicious. Tell me, Prince Adam, your father-in-law…he invents things, doesn't he?"

Adam was surprised by the question – and by the way that Maria Theresa had said 'invents things' as though it were the worst thing that anybody could do, worse even than going into trade – into a momentary silence. "He, yes, he dabbles in such things."

"Hmm," Theresa murmured. "Tell him to stop, won't you? There's a good fellow."

Adam's eyebrows rose. "I…forgive me, your majesty, but I don't understand."

"And I don't understand why anyone would want to waste the treasure of their time getting their hands covered in soot and grease, but apparently there are people who find it enjoyable," Theresa said sharply. "I understand that you fund these endeavours of his?"

"He is my wife's father," Adam replied. "Of course I support his enthusiasm."

"If his enthusiasm was for cutting off heads would you support that?"

"With the greatest respect, your majesty, that's a rather absurd comparison."

"Is it?" Theresa asked. "There is more at stake here than the indulgence of one old man who thinks himself a second Leonardo."

Adam frowned. "Then perhaps you should explain what more is at stake, for I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Word has reached me of the sort of inventions that this man works on," Theresa said. "Machines to cut wood, to harvest grain, to save labour."

"Yes, and?"

Theresa rolled her eyes at his naivety. "We have a system to preserve, Prince Adam; the fact that you have married a common village girl makes you no less a part of that system than I or my sisters. Our system is based, amongst other things, on the common peasants having a great deal of manual labour to occupy their waking hours. Imagine what might happen if that were to stop being the case, imagine what else they might do if they didn't have to chop wood or reap in the crops. They might start to read books, to have ideas, to wonder why they need to doff their caps and touch their forelocks to kings and emperors and princes."

"Perhaps we should try and come up with an answer," Adam suggested.

"Don't try to be amusing, it doesn't suit you," Theresa answered flatly. "Your father-in-law _does_ have an enthusiasm for cutting off heads, he just doesn't realise yet that it will be all of our heads on the chopping block if he starts a revolution with his innovations. So put a stop to it."

"And if I refuse?" Adam asked.

Theresa looked at him as though he were a complete idiot. "There are many ancient laws on the Imperial statute books, I'm sure that at least one of them can be found to put a stop to all this nonsense."

"That won't be necessary," Adam said quickly. "I will take care of it." Neither Belle nor Maurice would be happy about it, but they would understand once he made clear to them that the alternative was some sort of show-trial before an Imperial Diet. And there was no reason Maurice couldn't continue to work in a quieter fashion, perhaps on something less alarming to the Habsburgs.

And yet… _I thought that once they were gone everything would return to normal; instead their influence will linger here._

"I'm glad to hear it," Theresa said. "I knew I could rely on you. In that, and in the main business for which my sisters and I have travelled all this way." She smirked. "Or did you think I came here simply for the pleasure of your hospitality."

"I really had no idea," Adam said.

"Please don't play the fool, you're not the sort of person to think that I would come all this way, leaving my son behind, just to see you."

Adam looked at her for a moment. "They do say that you are your father's right hand. It had crossed my mind that you were here upon the Emperor's business. Either that or Bavaria itself has some interest in my land that I could not conceive of." He and Belle had talked it over, and she hadn't been able to think of anything either, concluding that it was far more likely that Maria Theresa was acting in the Imperial interest rather than the Bavarian; and she was much cleverer than she was – he would have felt far more comfortable if she'd been by his side, rather than at the other end of the table – so he had no doubt she was right.

Theresa smiled. "I confess, it pleases me to here that even in this backwater my reputation has come before me."

"Theresa," Carolina whined. "Do you have to talk business like this? It's all terribly boring."

Theresa's gaze turned frosty. "Boring? Is that what you think? Sophie, do you agree with Caroline?"

Caroline and Sophia shifted uncomfortably under their elder sister's gaze.

"I suppose you'd like to hear more stories of monsters?" Theresa asked. "Or perhaps you'd like more opportunities to make a fool of yourself?"

"Theresa-" Carolina began.

Theresa thumped the table so hard that the silverware jumped. "You are daughters of an emperor, try to start acting like it!" she yelled so loudly that all other conversation at the long dining table ceased, and all the eyes of the lords and knights and functionaries turned their way towards the head of the table. Adam could see Belle, all the way down at the far end, looking at him with concern in her doe hazel eyes.

And he couldn't even try to convey to her that there was nothing to worry about because he wasn't at all sure that it was true.

Theresa took a deep breath, and her voice descended to a sharp and icy quiet. "You are neither of you children any longer. One day soon you will both be wed to great princes of the Empire, to help hold the dominions of our father together."

Carolina smirked. "And to have sons who could become Emperor? Or is that only for your son?"

"I don't know how you think that you could ever compete for the succession if you can't focus on the Imperial business," Theresa replied sharply. "We were not put on this earth solely to amuse ourselves, but to uphold the dignity of a great empire. Our father's influence stretches from the Balkans to the North Sea, there is nothing boring about that." She sighed. "The Empire is far from boring. The Empire is everything."

Sophia bowed her head. "Of course, Theresa. Please continue."

"Yes," Adam murmured. "Please, your majesty, explain to me why you are here."

Theresa tapped her fingers upon the wood of the table for a moment. "What do you know of the progress of our war with Aquitaine and their allies?"

Adam rested his hands upon the arms of his chair. "I know that the Imperial armies have been making good progress in the north against the Flemish, but that your-"

"Our," Theresa said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Our armies?" Theresa said. "You are a prince of the Holy Roman Empire, our war is your war. Although it has not escaped the notice of anyone in Vienna or Munich that the Franche-Comte has not sent any troops to join the Imperial Army."

"We have sent money," Adam replied.

"So has every kingdom, principality and city-state, but most of them have also sent muskets," Theresa said. "And men to carry them into battle for the glory of the Reich."

"We are a little land, we have no men to spare," Adam said. "If we sent troops then we would not be able to gather in the harvest."

Theresa snorted. "No doubt every prince or count would say as much if he dared; do not think that because you are far away that your actions escape all notice." She shook her head. "However, you may be fortunate, both in that the need for such may soon be obviated…but also because you may have the opportunity to serve us in another way."

"Are we finally coming to the reason you're here?" Adam asked.

"As I think you were about to say," Theresa said. "Although we have done well against Aquitaine's allies in the north, our advance in the centre has been stymied on the Loire river and to the south it is slow going. I think another year would see the finish, Aquitaine must be close to the limit of their manpower reserves and my spies in London tell me that their credit with the banks of Albion is nearly exhausted."

"Then congratulations are in order, it seems," Adam murmured, because it was expected of him. For himself, he no longer found any reason why earnest congratulations ought to be offered on the making of a great many widows and orphans in the name of making an already vast empire just a little bit larger, but that was not the sort of thing that he could say before the Emperor's daughters.

"Not necessarily," Theresa said. "Our recent victories have alarmed the neutral powers: Albion frets over the loss of their trade with Flanders, and Normandie fears that once we have crushed Aquitaine we will turn on them – probably because that is what their own king would do in our place. Armorique has made it known that it intends to call a congress of the powers to settle the disputes that lie between the Empire and Aquitaine."

"I'm surprised they want to involve themselves in this," Adam said. If it had been him in their position he would have had nothing to do with any of it.

"Are you? I'm not. If the congress is successful then great prestige will accrue to the nation and its king. He will be at the heart of Europe, its great arbiter, settling the issues of great nations and redrawing the map according to his whim. Armorique would become the diplomatic heart if the west if their initiative is successful. I can see why they want to take the chance but it does put us in a quandary. We do not wish to go, when we are so close to achieving military victory, but if we do not attend then a congress of nations could easily turn into a coalition against us. You can see why we wish to avoid that."

"Yes," Adam said. "But I don't see what that has to do with me."

"The congress will not be held just yet," Theresa said. "Armorique is still canvassing the nations to get them to confirm their attendance. I wish you to go, as the Empire's representatives, and get a first-hand impression of the way the land lies there. If you think that this is to be a fair congress, not one that is stacked against us and our interests by the Franks, then send word and we will attend."

Adam couldn't help his eyebrows rising up his forehead. "You're putting a great deal of trust in me."

"You are as much French as you are of the Empire," Theresa admitted. "And you are acquainted with Prince Eugene, and with the Norman Princess Frederica who seems to have taken up residence in his country."

"Ooh, do you think they're sleeping together?" Sophia asked eagerly. "Wouldn't that be scandalous?"

"It's possible," Theresa allowed. "But personally I find it unlikely; why would he not have simply married her instead of…I forget the name of who he married, some nobody; he's…" she stopped short of saying 'he's a lot like you in that regard' which is what Adam suspected that she had been about to say. "The point is that you know them both."

"They attended my wedding, but I wouldn't claim that we were great friends."

"Acquaintance is more than I possess, and besides you are a likeable man. I hope it will allow you a somewhat sympathetic hearing on our behalf than might be given to those of us who…are less personable by nature," Theresa said, with a glance towards her sisters. "And if you think that this is all an excuse to rob us through negotiations of what we would have won by war, and then I would like you to do all you can to break up this burgeoning coalition before it can properly form." She leaned back, and folded her hands in her lap. "And of course, you wouldn't go unrewarded for your service to the Empire."

"Wouldn't I?"

"Of course not," Theresa said, as though the idea was absurd. "The Emperor rewards his loyal servants, and so do I." She smiled. "How would you like it if, the next time we were to sit down like this, your wife could be sitting by your side instead of my foolish sisters."

"Hey!" Caroline said.

Adam ignored her. He was far more focussed upon the rich prize that Queen Maria Theresa had dangled before his eyes. Perhaps it wasn't very often that things like this happened, perhaps for the most part he was able to treat Belle as the equal to himself that she was spiritually. Perhaps for the most part it didn't really matter that there were moments when he had to stand by and let her be treated this way…but those moments, the ones that were not covered by that 'perhaps' rankled with him a great deal. They rankled with Belle too, although she tried not to show it. If there was a possibility, a genuine possibility, to change that and to make sure that Belle had the respect in the world that her heart and virtues deserved then, well, how could he refuse to take it? "How is that possible?"

"Anything is possible, with the will," Theresa said. "Titles can be created out of thin air if my father wishes it so. With a snap of the Emperor's fingers and his seal upon a piece of paper Belle could become a countess, a duchess…perhaps, even a princess."

Adam froze. This was…he had never expected, never even dreamed. This was more than just elevating Belle's status to the point where she could hold her head high in company such as this one, this was actually making her his true equal in the eyes of the world beyond this castle, and if they had children then those children would be legitimate heirs to his lands and titles, this…this was the prize, this was…this was everything.

It was a dream, a dream that he could hardly believe might become real. "The marriage laws-"

"Can always be circumvented," Theresa said. She smiled. "I am descended from Snow White and Ferdinand, who first united Bohemia and Austria under one crown; but trace the descent of Ferdinand or Snow White back far enough and you will find a pair of brigand chiefs who happened to be in the right place at the right time. So it is with all noble families. In the case of your wife, well…her father is unfortunately still with us, but her mother is not; claims could be…created tying her to some old and safely defunct noble family, proving that she has sufficient noble blood to make her a fit consort to a prince of such a land as this…if there is good cause for us to do so."

"If I serve you well in this," Adam said.

"Precisely," Theresa said. "Think about it. Talk it over with your wife. And give me an answer before I leave, there isn't much time to waste. You have a great opportunity lying before you, Prince Adam; don't throw it away."

 _Author's Note: After two fics which have already firmly focussed on Cinderella and Eugene, what I'd like to do for a few chapters is focus on Belle and Adam to allow them to catch up a little bit before introducing them to Cinderella and all the characters from the prior two stories, as well as setting up the non-magical plot and the reason why they're going to Armorique in the first place._


	4. Their Decision

_Singertobe: Early 19th Century; the Empire in question being the Holy Roman Empire which existed from the early middle ages until the early 1800s.  
_

Their Decision

Though his return to a state of humanity had rendered Adam a deal less hairy than he had once been, nevertheless Belle found that the word 'hirsute' described her husband very well. His face and neck seemed to the only parts of himself that he consented to shave - for which Belle was very grateful, she couldn't imagine what kissing a man with a beard would feel like - while his chest was as shaggy as an old throw rug.

As she lay, exhausted - another of the ways the curse had left its mark upon him was that Adam seemed to have a nigh-boundless sense of energy that frequently left her worn out of nights, though he would always stop if she asked him to; she rarely asked, since his passion was so enjoyable as to render the post facto exhaustion well worth it - with her face and naked body resting upon that hairy chest, Belle was very much glad of the fact. Outside it was cold, as the winter chills of January lingered on into the midst of February; but between the heavy sheets above her and Adam's hairy chest beneath her Belle felt perfectly warm, even without a nightgown.

Her eyes were closed, but the light from the candles that burned upon the nightstand caused an orange glow before her eyes. She felt Adam's hand upon her cheek, and with a smile she reached up and placed her hand around his wrist, holding it there with his fingers caressing her.

He pulled his hand away. "I'm sorry, Belle."

Belle opened her eyes and looked up into his face. Adam looked as guilty as his voice had made him sound. "For what?"

"What kind of man lets his wife get pushed to the ground and doesn't say a word about it?"

"I didn't get pushed to the ground, I was caught."

"Belle-"

"The kind of man who understands that he is the prince of a very small country, and that he can't afford to upset two of the largest nations in Europe," Belle said. "The kind of man who understands that if I wanted a husband who puffed out his chest like a partridge at every insult I'd have stayed in the village and married Gaston." She reached up, and now it was her turn to stroke his face and feel his lantern jaw beneath her delicate fingers. "The kind of man who understands that I don't care about Maria Carolina or what she says or does, because she'll be gone from here soon enough."

Adam looked down at her with eyes that were uncomfortably knowing. "I wish I could believe every word of that."

Belle smiled wryly. "You see me too well," she grumbled good-naturedly. "But the first two were true." And the last was not a complete lie, either. She didn't care about the opinions of Maria Carolina, Maria Theresa or Maria Sophia for all that they were archduchesses or queens, descendants of Snow White and Frederick or that they came from a family that thought naming all its daughters Maria was a good idea. She didn't care what any of them thought, and if, as she suspected, none of them thought much about her at all then that wouldn't trouble. But it was a lie to say that she didn't care about what they did; it was a lie to say that being pushed around - literally! - in her own home didn't faze her, that being seated below the salt and forced to watch helpless as another woman made brazen advances upon the man she loved and while another pried into some of his most painful memories, didn't bother her. She would have needed a heart of stone or skin as thick as a rhino not to let these affect her, and Belle possessed neither.

But what could she do? What could either of them do but endure it for the brief time that it lasted? Their guests would leave, and blissful normalcy would swiftly return.

Or would it? Or would something else, something far-off and uncertain, take the place of normalcy for a time?

Adam sighed. "Do you want me to talk to Maurice?"

"No," Belle said. "He's my father, I'll speak to him." She turned her head away, and rested it once more on Adam's chest. "Although I don't know what I'm going to tell him."

"Tell him that it's for his own good. His own protection."

"I'm not sure that he'll understand," Belle said. "It's been his life since Mama died." At first, she suspected that Papa had disappeared into his workshop as a way to avoid it, busying himself with nuts and bolts and plans...but along the way he had come to love it for its own sake; even now, when he wanted for nothing and could have retired into genteel idleness here in the castle, he continued to tinker away. Taking that away from him, however good her reasons for taking it away might be, wasn't something that Belle was looking forward to.

"I wish that this was something else that we could ignore once Queen Maria Theresa leaves," Adam said. "But I'm worried that that isn't the case. If we do nothing it might not only be Maurice that she decides to punish."

Belle scowled. "And this is the woman that you're considering helping?"

"This is the woman, unfortunately, who can give us what we want," Adam replied.

 _What we want._ It was certainly what Adam wanted, but was it what she wanted? Belle had to admit that the answer was probably yes.

She had always been an outcast. That was something that had started long before she and her father came to a small provincial village in the Franche-Comte that had forgotten that it sat on the doorstep of their prince's castle. It had started much sooner that, after her clever, bookish mother who used to say that she collected knowledge the way that magpies collected shiny objects passed away. That sounded a little unfair to Papa, who was fond and kind and clever; but his cleverness was in his hands, his dreams were of metal and artifice, and he worried a little more about her security than her fulfilment; he had loved her but he could not really understand her. No one had until fate brought her here.

She had always been an outcast, but that didn't mean that she had ever enjoyed it; it certainly didn't mean that, having found a place where she was understood and loved, she appreciated having that intermittently interrupted by reminders that no, the world beyond the gothic walls of this safe haven still had no place for a girl like her.

She did not desire a crown. To be Princess Belle meant less than nothing to her. But to be their equal, in the way that the world judged as well as the way it ought to judge and to be acknowledged as such, to be protected from their insults, to be acknowledged and admitted; for them to be forced by the same customs and protocols that they presently wielded against her to yield place to her; yes, she wanted that.

To be with him, so that not even the highest status guest would have right or power to banish her from his presence; she wanted that. She wanted it very much.

But she was concerned by what he might have to do to get it for her.

"Do you trust her to keep her word?"

"If she didn't, who would ever trust her again?" Adam said. "Who would serve her, knowing that she had no intention of rewarding them as she promised?"

That, Belle considered, was a true enough point. "I don't want you to go," she whispered.

"Neither do I," Adam said. "I want us to go."

Belle stared at him for a moment, in shocked silence. Of all the things that he might have said by way of a reply to her, she hadn't expected this. "You want...you want me to come with you to Armorique? On a diplomatic mission?"

"Yes," Adam said.

Belle frowned. "And what am I going to do there? Be shunned by an entirely different set of snobs?"

"Prince Eugene of Armorique came to our wedding," Adam said. "Do you remember him?"

Belle thought about it. There had been a lot of guests at their first, public, wedding, and she hadn't been given the opportunity to spend a lot of time with the higher ranked amongst them. She remembered the sympathetic-seeming Princess of Normandie, but that was about it as far as the royal visitors went. "I'm afraid not."

"He married a commoner...it must have been a couple of years ago now."

"Really?" Belle said. From what she knew of Armorique - it was larger, wealthier, and more populous than Adam's realm - she doubted that the wife of Armorique's prince was so fortunate as she in being able to avoid the judgements of a true court. _Imagine having to put up with the likes of the three Marias every day. She must love him very much._

 _Imagine forcing a girl to put up with the likes of the three Marias every day, even if you love her._

"And not morganatically, either," Adam added. "An equal marriage, elevating her to princess."

"Really?" Belle repeated, more intrigued now.

"In the west," Adam said. "Things can be a little more enlightened than in the Empire. I'm hoping that things will be different there."

He had to mean that, since he had never suggested that she humiliate herself by accompanying him to diplomatic functions in the Empire; but even though he clearly believed it Belle could not help but be less certain. The princess of Armorique might have been a commoner once, but she was a princess now and might not have a lot of sympathy for someone who hadn't been so fortunate. Were people in the west really so much better than those in the easts? Were they really superior in attitudes and manners? She was not entirely convinced.

But a part of her wanted to be proven wrong. A part of her wanted that very much.

Once upon a time Belle had dreamed of adventure, of the wide world spread out before her. This single move was not, perhaps, so great a leap and what they travelled for did not seem to promise much in the way of excitement but still, it would be something. A chance to see a place that she had never seen before, to meet people she had never met before, perhaps a chance to experience things from a new perspective.

It might be terrible. But it might, instead, actually be fun.

"Come with me," Adam said. "Let me share this with you. A taste of what will come once Queen Maria Theresa holds up her end of the bargain." He paused. "I don't want to be the kind of husband who puts his wife on the shelf and expects her to be waiting for him when he gets back."

"Trust me," Belle murmured. "That kind of husband doesn't have a shelf; he has hangings for his trophies." She smiled. "You could never be that kind of man, and if I thought you could be I would never have married you."

"So...will you come?"

"Yes," Belle said. "Let's go to Armorique, together."

Adam clasped her hand. "Together."

"Together," they said...together.

 _Author's Note: Writing these Belle chapters feels a little like trying to thread a needle: on the one hand she needs to be at least somewhat unhappy in order to motivate her (and Adam) to seek a change to the status quo…but on the other hand I absolutely despise stories where all the love and acceptance that Belle found with the Beast and in the castle turns out to be illusory and everybody hates her. Which is why I've tried to emphasise that it's only in the presence of outsiders that things get bad and that Adam and the servants still love and admire her._

 _How am I doing at that so far?_


	5. Callous Sisters

Callous Sisters

They were called the Odd Sisters by some, the Weird Sisters by others, some called them instead the Sisters Three. Their actual names – they could not recall whether they had been given them by others, or whether they had chosen the names for themselves; all that really mattered was that they had borne the names for so long that they were an integral part of who they were – were Ruby, Lucinda and Martha, but few were ever so unfortunate as to come to know them well enough to know that. To most, they remained simply 'the sisters', who made their way through history leaving ruin in their wake.

They lived in a house which could be anywhere in the world they wished it to be; if there was someone with whom they were having long-running dealings then they would simply wish their house to be in the general vicinity so that they could come and go as they pleased until their business was concluded. Currently it was secluded in the woods not too far from Prince Adam's castle, where it had stayed ever since their attempts to thwart the breaking of his curse had failed and their dear Circe had parted ways with them for good; they didn't dare move, you see, because what if she came back and couldn't find them?

The house seemed, from the outside, to be a humble cottage, such as might be dwelt in by a trio of old spinsters with no family and no reason to interact with the wider world around them.

Inside, it was as luxurious as a palace, with more rooms than the sisters knew what to do with, save for the fact that they had acquired a great many possessions over the course of their long lives which all had to be put somewhere. Nevertheless, in spite of this hoarding, there was enough space that they could afford to leave poor Circe's room empty, just in case she should change her mind and come back to them, and still have room left over for the other children, the ones who came and went, each lasting a few years until they had served out their usefulness, or became tiresome, or – in the rarest of cases – grew powerful enough that they could be sent away, to make their own path in the world, before they became dangerous to the sisters. Whatever their final fate, the house was always full of children. It had always been so, since Circe went away, but somehow, no matter how many children they stole or claimed or bargained for, none of them could ever _be_ Circe. Yet they kept trying.

It was for one such child that the witch Ruby stalked the halls of her grand house in search of, her black dress trailing behind her, swirling occasionally as she turned rapidly to peer into empty rooms.

"Maria!" she cried. "Maria, where is that girl?"

She looked into one of the nurseries, but found no Maria there. Cora was there, the newest baby in the house, given to them by her parents in exchange for saving the life of the son they had preferred; now Cora was screaming and bawling in the arms of Adelaide, whom they had had since _she_ was a babe, about ten…no, it was eleven years ago now. Adelaide held Cora in her arms, rocking her gently from side to side, cooing at her, pulling her face this way and that like she was some sort of monkey.

"Adelaide!" Ruby snapped. "What are you doing? I thought I told you to mop the kitchen floor."

Adelaide gasped, her brown eyes wide with fear as she looked up at Ruby standing in the doorway. "Yes, Mother Ruby, but Cora was crying and I thought-"

"Babies cry all the time, what of it?" Ruby demanded. Except Circe, of course. Circe had never cried. Circe had always been as good as gold. The thought of her wayward-sister daughter made her sad, and that sadness deepened the scowl on her face and heightened the scorn in her voice. "Put her back in the crib. She'll soon stop once she sees that she gets no attention from it. Put her down, girl, put her down!"

"Yes, Mother Ruby," Adelaide murmured reluctantly, as she lowered the infant Cora back into the crib. She glanced at Ruby. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disobey, I only thought-"

"Shhh," Ruby whispered, as she bore down upon the frightened child. She was a pretty little thing, with soft brown hair in a pretty ponytail. Where had they gotten her? It was so hard to remember sometimes. There had been so many children. She was…they had been given her by a Westphalian baron in payment for lifting a curse that a rival witch had placed on his family, yes, that was it. Ruby smiled indulgently. "Don't fuss, child, and don't shirk either. When you make a mistake you must take responsibility for it, and punishment if need be. But, in this case, I will be merciful. Run along now, and too your work. And don't let it happen again or I shan't be so merciful next time."

"Yes, Mother Ruby," Adelaide said.

"And have you seen your sister Maria?"

"No, Mother Ruby."

Ruby scowled. "Off you go then."

Adelaide nodded, and bolted from the room. She disappeared, but Ruby heard her run into something outside.

"I'm sorry, sister, I didn't-aagh!"

"Watch where you're going in future!" Esme snapped.

"Esme!" Ruby yelled.

Esme slunk into the doorway. Along with Maria she was one of the oldest girls in the house, seventeen; seventeen and magical too. She was not one of those they would dispose of as she grew up, no, not her. She was magical, and strongly magical, she was one of those they would send away, confident that they had raised a fine young witch.

Esme leaned against the doorway. "What is it, mother?"

"Have you seen your sister?"

Esme smirked. "The one who just left the room? Is your memory failing you, mother Ruby?"

Ruby scowled at her. Esme was a good girl, the best they had had in the house since Circe went away, but sometimes she let that tongue of hers run away with her. Ruby scowled, and Esme yelped in pain and started to clutch at her arm as it was wracked with pins and needles.

"Ah! I'm sorry, Mother Ruby, I didn't mean to insult you! It was just a joke, really, ah! I'm sorry, I really am, now please stop it."

Ruby waved one hand nonchalantly, and the pain stopped. Esme gasped, rubbing her had up and down the green sleeve of her dress.

"You know that I don't want to hurt you, child," Ruby said. "So don't make me do it."

Esme shook her head. "I try not to. I won't do it again. I'll do better in future."

"It was your sister Maria whom I meant, have you seen her?"

Esme's green eyes flashed angrily. "I think I saw her in the trophy room."

Ruby pursed her lips together. She glared down at Esme. "Have you no work to do?"

Esme's face turned almost as red as her hair. "Mother Lucinda set me some potions to brew."

"Then return to it then!" Ruby snapped, before pushing past Esme and stalking off in the direction of the trophy room.

The sisters three had many possessions, but the dearest of all of them were those that they had taken from those who had been so bold and foolish as to deny the odd sisters their due. From all of those they took, well, they took their lives in most cases because they had reputations to maintain, after all, but they also took something else from them; something precious to them, in token of the victory, to remind them of all of those who had sought to defy them and their fates.

All of these most precious gifts were held in a special room, a private room, a room in which Maria had no business and yet there she was, standing in the middle of the room surrounded by the treasures of her mothers: lockets, mirrors, rings, old gowns, necklaces. One of Ruby's favourites was a pearl necklace that had once belonged to a Spanish queen who had bargained with the sisters to enhance her beauty; beauty she had received, fantastic beauty, but afterwards she had balked at paying the price she had agreed with the three witches.

So they had strangled her with her own pearls, and afterwards they had taken the necklace for themselves as a token of the triumph.

And now those pearls were in Maria's hands, as she looked down upon them.

"What are you doing in here?" Ruby demanded.

Maria jumped. She was a lovely girl, golden haired and blue eyed just like their Circe; she had been with them for seventeen years, given to them as a baby by the Emperor in exchange for sparing his other daughters from the illness that had threatened them all (they had left him a changeling in exchange, because they were not wholly without compassion). She looked just like their Circe, and for a while she had been their favourite, but she had grown up to be spoilt and wilful and disobedient. And soon she would be too old for her childish transgressions to be any more ignored.

Ruby stalked into the room. "I asked you a question, dear. What are you doing in here?"

"I-I was only looking, Mother Ruby. I just…I just wanted to look at them."

"Just wanted to look?" Ruby repeated. "And what did you want to look at?"

Maria glanced around the room. "I suppose…I was just…all these things, they came from somewhere, didn't they? You didn't make them all, you were given them by other people."

"We were," Ruby allowed, with a nod of her head.

"So the world, and the people who live in it, that must mean they can't be all bad, doesn't it?" Maria asked. "How can a world that makes so many wonderful things be bad? And why do we have to hide from that world in here?"

"And how would you know anything about the world?" Ruby asked. "All your life you have lived here, all your life we have raised you, fed you, cared for you, taught you. But now, oh, ungrateful child, you want to leave all that behind."

"No!" Mariad exclaimed. "Mother Ruby, you know I'm not ungrateful."

"You want to turn you back upon us all!"

"It's not like that!"

Ruby swooned theatrically, and groaned melodramatically for added effect. "We will be abandoned-"

"No, you won't," Maria said. "I-I'm sorry, Mother Ruby. I didn't mean it like that. I just…I don't see how the world can so cruel that we have to live so completely apart from it."

"That is because you do not know the world," Ruby said. "It is a dark place, full of wickedness, where a girl like you would be devoured. That is why you must stay here, under our protection and our guidance, until we tell you that you are ready." She smiled fondly. "Now get out of here girl, and dream no more of things you do not understand. Trust your mothers, and leave all things to us."

Maria nodded. "I will, Mother Ruby. I'm sorry."

"Off you go," Ruby said, ushering Maria out of the room. "Go and help Esme with her potions."

"Yes, Mother Ruby."

As Maria walked away the sisters' cat, Pflanze, slunk into view. He was a black cat with a white belly and mismatched eyes, one green and one black. He yawned, and scratched the carpet as he stretched out in front of Ruby.

 _Lucinda and Martha are waiting for you in the study. They have some news to share._

Ruby hastened to the study, to the most private sanctum of the sisters were the children were kept out by strong and ancient spells. It was not the most comfortable room in the house, since they hadn't redecorated it since the twelfth century and it very definitely showed, but since they used it more for private conversations than for comfortable relaxation that didn't matter too much. The room was dark, with a large cauldron permanently bubbling away in the centre of it: their scrying cauldron, their window on the world; they had possessed a magic mirror that accomplished the same thing but they had foolishly allowed Circe to give it away. At the time they had thought it a fine jest to give the cursed Prince Adam a way to look out upon the world he could no longer be a part of, but now the curse was broken and _he still had their mirror, the thief!_ If they had not had this cauldron as well they would have been blinded.

Lucinda and Martha were already in the study, standing around the cauldron, giggling to one another as they looked into it.

Ruby slammed the door behind her. "What news, my sisters? What do you wish to tell me?"

"Wonderful news, sister!" Lucinda cried.

"Most excellent news!" Martha agreed.

"At long last, a princess of Armorique has given birth to a girl!" Lucinda announced.

Ruby's eyebrows rose. That was excellent news, or could be at least. "Their father is in the direct royal line."

"He is, the crown prince himself!" Martha shrieked.

Ruby smiled as she walked towards the cauldron. "Then the bargain is at long last fulfilled."

"Twice over!" Lucinda cried. "Come, sister, come and see."

Ruby leaned over the cauldron – Lucinda and Martha did likewise – to see that they had already scryed the young princesses of Armorique in the surface of the water. In the cauldron's surface, the three sisters could see a beautiful young woman, all dressed in white, cradling a squalling infant in her arms.

"Oh, don't cry, Annabelle," the young woman whispered, rocking the baby from side to side. "Mother's here. I've got you."

The woman seemed ignorant of the fact that babies only cried for attention, or at least she seemed to determined to reward such bad behaviour as she cooed over the fussing babe until, at last, the baby grew tired enough to stop crying on her own.

"There, there," the woman whispered to her daughter. "There's no need to be upset. We're here, and you're safe, and nothing is ever going to happen to you."

The three sisters sniggered as the woman on whom they spied was joined by a man, holding another baby.

"Twins?" Ruby asked.

"Yes!" Martha said jubilantly. "Twin girls for us to take."

"If you keep this up," the man said. "Isabelle is going to get jealous of her sister."

The woman looked briefly saddened by this. "I just wish I knew why Annabelle seems so much more sensitive than Isabelle. She cries so much more often."

"It's just how some children are, I think," the man said. "I'm not sure that it means anything. The doctors say there's nothing wrong with her."

"I know, I just…" the woman looked from one child to the other. "I didn't think that I could love anyone more than I love you, but now…"

The man, still holding the other children cradled in one arm, put his other arm around the woman's waist and drew her close. "I didn't believe that I could love anyone as much as you, but now…my heart has been divided into three, one third for each of the women in my life."

The woman smiled brightly up at him, before he bent down to kiss her.

"Bleurgh!" Lucinda groaned in disgust. "Stop, stop, show us something else!"

"Twin girls," Martha said. "They must honour the bargain that this prince's ancestor made with us. The terms were quite clear, the obligation passes on until it is fulfilled."

"Of course," Lucinda said. "And if they think to deny us, we shall teach them the same lesson we have taught all those who have sought to cheat and swindle us."

"If they give up the girls without a fuss they met yet live to have more children," Martha said. "Otherwise…"

They both looked at Ruby with eager anticipation in their eyes. "What say you, sister?" asked Lucinda.

"Should we not got straightway to Armorique?" asked Martha.

Ruby pursed her exceedingly small mouth. "I am not so certain," she said. "We still must make a final reckoning with Prince Adam and the Beauty, who have long mocked us with their happiness.

Lucinda and Martha shrieked in pain at the mere mention of the name of Prince Adam and the reminder of is wife and marital bliss.

"Slighted our Circe, our sister-daughter!" Lucinda yelled.

"Drove her away from us!" Martha wailed.

"He was supposed to submit to his curse and despair!" Lucinda shouted.

"That wretched Beauty ruined everything!" Martha spat. "Enchanted him with her loveliness, fell in love with him, broke the curse, ruined everything!"

"Every day that they live together in bliss is a day that they spit upon us," Ruby declared. "We are nothing if we do not punish them for all the wrongs that they have done to us, and revenge every last transgression tenfold upon them."

"But sister," Lucinda whined. "Circe, before she left for…for good this time." She stopped to blow her nose. "She said we were not to interfere with Adam and his Beauty any longer. If we offend her…she might never return."

"Our sister-daughter," Martha sobbed.

Ruby rolled her excessively large eyes. "Circe seems unlikely to return in any case. But, if she does, if she can forgive us all else, then surely she will forgive us this as well. After all, she will have to understand that we had only her best interests at heart. But we cannot go to Armorique until we have settled our accounts here in the Franche-Comte at long last." It would be good to have two more children in the house; two more babies to be there when Maria and Esme were gone; but they had a reputation to uphold, and Prince Adam's defiance dragged that reputation further through the mud with every passing day.

Ruby waved one hand over the scrying cauldron, dismissing the scene of the prince and princess of Armorique in their parental bliss. "Show us Prince Adam and his wife."

* * *

"I'm so glad to hear that you've come to this decision," Queen Maria Theresa said as she smiled genially. She and her sisters stood in the antechamber, just before the great doors leading out of the castle. Outside, her servants were loading the last of their belongings onto the coaches which would carry the royal party away from here.

Not too far away, standing just beyond the doors, stood two people that Belle had not been introduced too over the course of the visit here. Not that that was too surprising – there were a lot of people who though that they were too good to be introduced to Belle – but these two didn't have the look of grand aristocrats or haughty nobles. One of them was a man, dressed in the slightly ragged-looking white coat of a fusilier captain, with a top hat perched incongruously on his head, overshadowing his eyes and parts of his face. What Belle could see of his face was covered by an unkempt beard, while most of the other officers that the Queen and the Archduchesses had brought with them were either clean-shaven or possessed well-groomed moustaches.

The other figure was a woman, swathed in a common cloak of dark brown wool, with the hood up so that her face was hidden, although Belle could see a touch of red hair peaking out from underneath the hood.

They were not the kind of people that Belle would have expected to see standing so close to the royal party, to say the least.

"Yes, indeed, you are to be congratulated," Theresa said. "For making not only the wise choice, but also the right choice as loyal subjects of His Imperial Majesty."

"I hope that our good service will not be forgotten," Adam replied.

Theresa chuckled. "Of course not, Prince Adam," she stepped closer towards him, and her voice dropped. "But it isn't courteous to say such things out loud."

She snapped her fan open, and fanned herself with it although it was hardly warm. "And now we must take our leave of you. Farewell and good fortune, Prince Adam; correspondence to Vienna will find me once your mission is completed." Theresa's eyes found Belle for a moment, and the two of them looked at one another. Belle half-expected Maria Theresa to say something to her, but she did not. Of course she didn't. What would a queen, a regent, the daughter of so many Caesars, have to say to the likes of her?

As Maria Theresa turned away without a word, Maria Carolina walked up to Adam. At least she didn't push Belle away this time, but she still ignored her presence as she reached up and put her hands on Adam's shoulders, pressing herself against him. "I'm going to miss you so much, Adam. Are you going to miss me?"

Adam shuffled uncomfortably. "Your presence in my life has made such an impression on me that I don't see how I could fail to notice your absence."

Belle was able to restrain herself from laughter, even as she was quite impressed by the way in which Adam was able to put her down. Judging by the irritated way in which she snapped her fan and glared at him, Maria Theresa had noticed the tacit insult.

Judging by the gleeful smile on her face, Carolina had not. "Really? I'm so glad to hear it! I knew you felt that way, I knew it! I'm going to make sure Theresa brings me to Armorique for this congress-"

"If it takes place," Theresa said sharply.

Carolina ignored her. "Because although I'm sure it will be incredibly boring, you'll get the chance to see so much more me. Isn't that wonderful? What am I saying, of course it is." She stepped back. "Now, give me a goodbye kiss."

"Caroline!" Theresa snapped.

Caroline huffed. "I suppose it will have to wait. Until then, Adam."

She, too, turned away, leaving only Maria Sophia standing in the doorway, staring at Adam with an appraising eye.

"I have to say, Prince Adam, that you were a little disappointing," she said.

"I am glad to say that you were exactly as I expected, Archduchess."

"I think you must have been much more impressive as a monster."

Adam's jaw tightened. "To some maybe, but for myself I am exceedingly glad to find myself a man." He bowed. "I wish your majesty and your graces a pleasant journey home."

"Pleasant? Unlikely, the best we can hope for is that it shall be swift," Theresa declared. She looked back at them. "Oh, one more thing. I have decided to send these two with you to Armorique; although they are humble fellows they possess my trust, and as such they will act as the guarantors of the Empire's interests there."

Adam inhaled through his nose. "You doubt my loyalty, your majesty?"

"I doubt men I know far better than you, Prince Adam, don't take it personally," Theresa said. "This is Captain Avenant, although he is a soldier in my father's army I believe that he originally comes from this part of the world, isn't that right, Avenant."

Avenant bowed his head. "Indeed, your majesty, I was born in the very village yonder." His voice was gruff, but not completely devoid of the local accent. "Although I have never met his highness or the madame," he looked up at them both, fixing Belle with an intent gaze of his blue green eyes. "I believe that you were both acquainted with my brother, Gaston."

Belle's eyes widened. She found herself taking an involuntary step backwards, and tightening her grip on Adam's arm as she did so. No, it couldn't be. He had a brother? She couldn't imagine the man she'd known as being capable of sharing anything, not even a mother and father, with anybody else. A brother? Gaston's brother, here? With them? Surely this wasn't happening.

Adam bared his teeth, unfortunately it wasn't as intimidating as it had been when he had fangs. "Your Majesty, what is the meaning of this? This man-"

"Is not his brother, whoever that might be," Theresa declared mercilessly. "If his presences makes your back itch, well then, perhaps that will focus your attention on not doing anything contrary to our interests."

"What is that you expect I'm going to do?" Adam demanded. "What have I done to make you believe this is necessary?"

"As I told you," Theresa said, in leaden tones that made clear her dislike for being questioned. "There is nothing personal that has warranted my distrust. I simply do not trust too widely. In any case, in addition to Captain Avenant, this is Amelie, one of my huntresses."

Amelie threw back her hood, revealing red hair cut short around the shoulders, and mismatched eyes of blue and green set in a fair but freckled face. She smiled, but in the present circumstances Belle could not help but see it as a mocking smile.

Avenant did not smile. And he kept on staring at her.

"Obviously, humble as they are, they will not undertake any diplomacy," Theresa said. "But they have eyes and ears, and they will know if you…do anything that you shouldn't. Goodbye, Prince Adam. And good luck." She turned away, and walked to her carriage with her sisters.

Leaving Adam and Belle alone with the brother of their enemy.

* * *

Lucinda cackled triumphantly. "This is perfect! We can go to Armorique, take the children and have our revenge all at the same time!"

Ruby smirked. "Indeed. It is fortunate that we shall be able to kill two birds with one stone. Adam and Belle shall pay the price for their defiance of our will, and the prince of Armorique will give up his daughters to us and fulfil the ancient bargain that his ancestor made. It will all come together perfectly."

"What if Circe tries to interfere?" Martha asked.

"She is our daughter not our master," Ruby said. "Much though we love her, we cannot allow her to dictate to us what we may or may not do, and to whom we may or may not do it, not when we are so much older than she, and wiser in the ways of this wicked world. It is high time Circe learned that mother knows best. Sisters, shall we go to Armorique?"

"Yes! We shall!"

Vengeance would be there's, and Adelaide would soon have two more little sisters, two more precious children in the house, for a little while at least.

After all, the agreement had been made many centuries ago. How could the prince and princess possibly refuse?

* * *

 _Author's Note: If any of the stuff with the Three Sisters is confusing to people who haven't read_ The Beast Within _and you urgently want it explained, let me know and I'll put it in a note next chapter. If you're happy to wait and let it be revealed more gradually in the story then I will do that instead._

 _The only thing I'll say now is that the thing with all the children is my own invention; I very early on decided that the sisters were going to want to steal Cinderella's babies because it was a conflict where I was confident that the witches would feel very in the right but absolutely no one reading the story would agree with them. However, I didn't at first know why they wanted children, until I decided that they are trying to replace in some way the daughter who ran away from them. It's not something that exists in Serena Valentino's books but as a reason for the conflict of the story I think it works._

 _Apparently, at one stage Disney was going to do a direct-to-DVD sequel to Beauty and the Beast in which Gaston's brother Avenant sought revenge. A lot of that plot got used in the Little Mermaid sequel instead, but that's where the idea and the name of the character came from._


	6. Fright

Fright

It took a few days for Belle and Adam to put all things in order for their departure to Armorique.

Cogsworth would, of course, have charge of the castle in the absence of the master and his wife, ably assisted by Mrs Potts; between them they would have charge not only of the building but of most of the household for Adam and Belle were hardly taking anyone with them to attend upon them in Armorique. It was a long journey, and the more burdened by train they were the slower that journey would be, not to mention the question of who would maintain the castle if it was left deserted because Belle and Adam had taken everyone across Gallia with them.

And besides, if they had – for example – decided to take the cook with them, then who would cook for the servants who remained behind?

No, they would only take a few people to accompany them: Lumiere, to manage the household they would establish in Armorique; Chapeau, to be Adam's valet; Madame du Garderobe to act as Belle's maid; and Babette, to be the maid in whatever house they ended up renting in town for the duration of their stay abroad. All the rest would remain behind, until such time as Adam and Belle returned.

As they departed in a pair of coaches – one for Belle and Adam, the other for the small staff who accompanied them – all the servants who were remaining behind turned out to wish them well, good luck, a safe journey and a swift return to the home where they belonged.

"You know, it's funny," Adam said, as he waved out of the window at his retainers as the carriage bore him and his wife away. "This is far from the first time that I've seen this. Whenever my father would travel to Vienna or to the Diet or anywhere at all, and he would take me with him, the servants would always turn out in just this way. The faces changed along the way, but the act and the gestures remained the same." He looked at Belle, with a smile upon his face. "This is the first time that I've actually believed they meant all the things that they're calling out to us."

Belle reached out, and took his hand. "They always loved you. Cogsworth and Mrs Potts and all the rest. They always loved you, even when…"

"Even when I didn't deserve it," Adam said.

Belle nodded. There was no point in denying that Adam had been a deeply flawed person, in the past; to have tried to deny it would also have been to deny what a good man he had become, and how hard he had worked to overcome his flaws.

And so the carriages carried them away, while the great gothic edifice that Belle had come to call home, the magnificent castle that rose out of the trees and loomed like a slumbering giant over the world around it, grew smaller and smaller until she could no longer see it at all.

As they were borne away so too was the sun descending beneath the horizon, so that it almost seemed as if they were racing the sun, caught in a contest that they could not win as the source of all light outpaced the progress of their horses and dipped beneath the horizon while they were still on the forest road, plunging the world into darkness.

They ate a cold meal from out of hampers that Mrs Potts and Chef Bouche had prepared for them before their departure, and hung lanterns on the sides of the carriages as outside the shadows lengthened and the dying light cast the trees towering over them in cruel and jagged shapes, with branches like arms reaching out for them and the gnarled wood into scarred and eerie faces.

Wolves began to howl amongst the trees as the darkness deepened and the moon rose up; wolves, wolves howling from all around, their call rising up from all sides, echoing off the trees and striking the stars on their way to the moon. Belle gasped, one hand involuntarily clutching at her cloak as she looked out the window, staring out into the blackness, barely illuminated by the lantern light, as though she could see something out there.

Her heart was beating rapidly, her eyes had widened and her mouth was set into a fearful grimace as she peered out into the night. She wasn't sure what was worse: hearing those dreadful howls all around them, making the horses stomp and whinny in panic where they were tethered to nearby trees, or to see those wicked eyes gleaming out of the trees, see those awful fangs slavering in anticipation.

Belle's breathing came quickly as she clutched her fur-trimmed cloak closer about her; as her eyes failed to see anything in the darkness her mind's eye supplied details a plenty: the eyes, the fangs, the way they growled; that one wolf in particular who had licked his lips in anticipation, the way that another had snapped a stout branch in half with a single bite. She still had nightmares about it sometimes, the wolves in the wood; of herself, caught, trapped, pinned to the ground by her own cloak.

And as she listened to the howling, Belle couldn't help but think that, for all of his wonderful qualities, Adam would not be so able to protect her as he had been then.

Nevertheless, he put his hands upon her shoulders and drew her back from the window. "I know you must be worried, but try not to let it get to you. You're perfectly safe." With a nod of his head he indicated the blunderbuss that was in the carriage with them. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Belle huddled close to him, and wished that his assurance – heartfelt and sincerely meant, she had no doubt – could put her mind completely at ease. But that howling, that awful sound, how could she ignore it?

Both Belle and Adam jumped as something wrapped loudly on the carriage door. It turned out to be Amelie, Queen Maria Theresa's huntress, who got up onto the coach step so that she could peer into the carriage through the window.

Adam leaned across to open said window, letting in blast of cold air that made Belle huddle further into her cloak and draw yet closer to her husband.

"Is there something we can do for you?" Adam asked, in a voice that was nearly as cold as the wind coming in.

Amelie shrugged. "I couldn't help but notice that m'lady looked a little bit nervous. Don't worry, if any of those howling brutes come any closer we'll make them regret it. So you can rest easy knowing that we're watching over you."

Somehow, Belle doubted that the knowledge that Gaston's brother was watching her would have made her feel better in any circumstances, but the idea that the presence of these two guests was supposed to make her feel better about the presence of wolves all around seemed close to ludicrous.

"The two of you are supposed to make us feel safe?" she asked.

"Wolves can be taught to fear, just as easily as men can," Avenant said. It shouldn't have been possible to mumble loudly and yet somehow he managed to do it, and while presenting his back to them as well. "They can be taught respect, too. They're predators…but they give way when a more fierce predator still stalks the wood."

Avenant and Amelie were the only two people who did not sleep inside the carriages that night. Just as they rode horses rather than riding in the coaches, so they pitched their blanket rolls out on the ground by the side of the road. Though whether they slept there at all Belle could not have said, for in the middle of the night she was woken by a thunderous gunshot, and when she looked out of the window she couldn't see any sign of either one of them before tiredness overtook her and she drifted off to sleep again.

But come the morning, Amelie had a silver wolf pelt slung over the back of her horse that hadn't been there before, and she was looking very pleased with herself.

Belle disliked both of them. That might have seemed so obvious as to go without saying, but nevertheless she disliked both of them. Perhaps if one of them hadn't been Gaston's brother she wouldn't have been so pre-disposed to harsh judgement of them both…but he was Gaston's brother, and that meant that the very way he looked at her bothered her.

As they travelled across Gallia, there were times when they would stop at an inn or a lodging house, and at those times Belle would find herself treated as though she was a princess, or a lady at least, and not just a poor girl who happened to have married a prince without advancing her own station by a single jot. She shared the best room in the house with Adam, was treated to hot meals and even hotter baths, and slept in beds that were, if not quite as soft as the bed they shared at the castle, nevertheless soft enough to curl up in next to the man she loved and love him before falling into the embrace of sleep.

At other times, however, they had to stop in the middle of nowhere, and sleep in their coaches or camped out nearby, eating cold food or cooking over open fires. It was during those times that Belle felt the presence of Maria Theresa's pair of watchers the most. The way they watched her, the stoniness of Avenant's face, the gleam in his eyes…there were times when she felt as if he was purposefully going out of his way to frighten her.

And the worst part was that it was working.

* * *

"Will you stop that?" Amelie demanded. "I swear, it's almost as if you're trying to frighten the poor girl."

The two of them were sitting on either side of a dying fire which, having fulfilled its purpose of allowing them to smoke some of the kippers they had brought in the last village they'd passed through on the road, they had allowed to smoulder into embers. The smoke rose up between them still, but even that was dying away, with only a few slightly eye-watering wisps left to reach up for the sky. The sun was rising over the horizon as they spoke, and soon it would be time to be on their way once more.

But there was still time to give Avenant a harangue that he had deserved a little more each day since they set out on this trip.

Avenant's blue eyes gleamed out from under the shadow of his top hat. His mouth twisted into something like incredulity. "That poor girl? Really?"

Amelia tilted her chin, the better to look down her nose upon him. "And? What's wrong with that?"

Avenant shrugged. "Nothing, except that it's coming from you, an actual poor girl. And you have seen who she's married to, haven't you?"

"Don't be peda, don't be a pe…don't be pederas…don't nitpick!" Amelie said sharply, once she had given up on finding the word that Her Majesty used. "You know what I mean. And you saw the way Her Majesty treated her, didn't you? Like she didn't exist. Her Majesty never treats me like that."

"You are of use to Her Majesty," Avenant replied. "We both are. That's the only reason she affords us even a morsel of notice or respect."

"I know," Amelie said, because she wasn't stupid or under any illusions. Service to the queen had been good to her and to Avenant, but Her Majesty didn't love them or nothing. The moment they stopped being useful to her that would be that.

Fortunately, Amelie didn't plan to stop being useful any time soon. "Anyway, it doesn't make me feel any less sorry for her. It must be awful, being treated that way."

"I'm sure that she has adequate consolations," Avenant said.

Amelie rolled her eyes. "Do you have to be like that? Would it kill you to try and be friendly to her?"

"Is that what you're doing?" Avenant asked, and some amusement crept into his voice as he leaned forward to whisper. "I don't think its working."

"It's not working because of you, scowling and staring and all the rest," Amelie muttered. "Can I ask you something?"

Avenant blinked. He took of his hat, and ran one hand through his dark, matted hair. "You can ask me anything you like, Amelie. You know that."

"Why did you mention your brother?" she asked. "You didn't have to."

"Perhaps not," he replied. "But unless I lied it would have come out if they asked any questions, as soon as Her Majesty mentioned that I was a local boy."

"You could have lied," Amelie murmured. "You're a good liar; good enough to fool them, I bet." She paused. "You're not your brother; I know that, but you didn't give them a chance to see that for themselves because it's all they see now."

"He was my brother," Avenant said. "Am I supposed to ignore that?"

"It's not as if you liked him."

Avenant was silent for a moment. "True enough, but…he was still my brother. And they killed him. There has to be…consequence for that."

Amelie snorted. "If half the things you've told me about your brother are true then he got what was coming to him, and it was only a matter of time before someone did for him besides." She sighed. "We're not here to be their executioners."

"We're not here to be their friends, either."

Amelie exhaled sharply out of her nostrils. "You know that the last thing Her Majesty would want is for you to let this get personal. If she finds out you put the job at risk because of how you felt-"

"This hasn't got anything to do with the way I feel."

Amelie scoffed. "Then why are you acting like the big, bad wolf?"

Avenant was silent for a moment. "You know why," he muttered.

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," Avenant replied. "And it's nothing to do with me, or my brother, or my feelings. You say that Her Majesty wouldn't like this, but it has everything to do with Her Majesty. She doesn't trust these too."

"Her Majesty doesn't trust anybody," Amelie said. "Except us."

Avenant's eyebrows rose.

"She must trust us a little bit," Amelie said. "Else…who sends two people they don't trust to keep an eye on the people they don't trust."

"Somebody who doesn't have anyone that she can trust," drawled Avenant. "The point is, if these two betray Her Majesty…betray the Empire…it will fall to us to do something about it. That'll be much easier...if we haven't been getting cosy with them beforehand."

Amelie frowned, her forehead wrinkling between her brows. She looked over her shoulder, to see Belle shooting anxious glances their way. "I don't know," she said. "I mean, I know what you mean: the dog you've raised from a pup is the hardest to put down. But I don't know why we're here, not really. I don't think they're going to betray Her Majesty or the Emperor. They want what she's dangling in front of them too badly for that."

Avenant chuckled. "A gift in one hand; a knife in the other. That's Her Majesty's way."

Amelie smiled wryly. "Isn't that the truth?" She sighed. "Look, I'm not asking you to make friends with her or anything, but can you just…not actively try and scare her for the whole way to Armorique. It's going to be a long trip if you can't, and besides…"

Avenant looked at her, and gave her a moment to finish which she did not take. "What?"

Amelie glanced at Belle once again. "I'm a huntress. I like dogs, I like horses; I don't mind guns or knives. I like _hunting_ , not…this." She waved her hands to encompass the camp. "There are times when I almost wish that I hadn't come to Her Majesty's notice."

"This pays better than skinning deer or frightening off poachers," Avenant observed.

"I know," Amelie said wearily. "And I've not great objection to being the ones to take the high born down a peg when they forget their place in the pecking order. But that woman there, behind us? She's more like us than she is like Her Majesty, no matter who she married. It doesn't feel right."

"We don't get to choose what's right and what's wrong," Avenant informed her, as though she could have forgotten that incredibly important fact. "We're servants of Her Majesty."

"I know," Amelie said. She felt she ought to have said more but…the words just wouldn't come, so she settled for repeating herself. "I know."

* * *

"What do you think they're talking about?" Belle asked Adam softly, as she glanced at the two 'guests' imposed upon them by Queen Maria Theresa.

"I really couldn't say," Adam said.

"I don't like them," Belle admitted. She wasn't afraid to admit that she was afraid, not when she had good reasons for fear.

Adam put his hands on her arms. Even as a human he had strong arms, and a firm grip, and feeling that firm grip upon her steadied her just a little. "I don't like them either, but we cannot do anything about it. And…I hope that so long as we do all that we are supposed to do then all will be well, and we won't have any trouble from them."

Belle looked up into his blue eyes, still the most familiar thing in his whole face to her. "Do you really believe that?" she asked. "Even though you know who he is?"

"If he were here by himself that really would worry me," Adam said. "But he is a servant of the Queen, not of himself, and she wouldn't go to all this trouble just to get rid of us. She wants our mission to succeed, and it will; and because it will, we don't need to worry about her…insurance."

Belle nodded, because it made rational sense. The alternatives were, from a perspective of pure, clear thought, bordering on nonsensical. Maria Theresa, daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor, Dowager Queen and Regent of Bavaria, Habsburg princess and descendant of Frederick and Snow White, would never trouble herself to enable the fraternal revenge of a mere army captain, and even if by some miracle she did she wouldn't commission them to go all the way to Armorique on a plausible-sounding diplomatic mission to do it.

But if she had ever been guided by pure rationality she could not be now, because this was _Gaston's brother_ and he had eyes like a hungry wolf and his friend with her manner so glib wasn't helping either. She couldn't trust them. She could not help but fear them.

It occurred to Belle then that that might have been exactly what Maria Theresa had been hoping for, and a flame of anger flared up inside her at the woman who could not leave them alone, whose malign shadow lingered over them like a shroud even when they were on the other side of Europe, who for all that she might promise respect and equality could not but reach out all the way from Munich or Vienna to instil uncertainty and fear in Belle.

Belle almost hated her, and yet still she would do exactly as she wanted, or at least help Adam to do what she wanted in any way she could.

Between what they stood to gain and what they stood to lose, how could she do otherwise?

Thus burdened and besieged by fear and suspicion they made their way, yard by yard, mile by mile, day by day, to Armorique until they had passed into the borders of that kingdom. Once they passed the borders Adam sent Lumiere on ahead to Brest both to find lodgings for them and to act as a messenger to the court with news of their coming, their mission, and their impending arrival.

And so they made their way step by step, yard by yard, mile by mile, day by day until they had reached the capital and very heart of that romantic kingdom, where the great gleaming palace reached into the sky and shone under the bright light of the sun.

Prince Adam and Belle had arrived in Armorique; it remained to be seen what they would do now that they had arrived, and what Armorique – and the princess who, it was said by some, ruled the land in all but name – would make of them.


	7. Mother

_Singertobe: It's an alternate history, except I haven't bothered to work out exactly what the history is to tell you. Basically, if you assume a balkanised France that is broken up into various petty kingdoms including Armorique (Brittany, where Cinderella and Eugene live), Normandie (Normandy, from where Frederica hails), Aquitaine (including Anjou, the two being united through the marriage of Aurora and Philip during the middle ages) and the Franche-Comte (which is where Adam and Belle live, and is in the far east of France, in Burgundy, and being so far east falls under the dominion of the Holy Roman Empire) then you'll understand what I'm getting at._

Mother

At first, Eugene had been alarmed when he came up to Cinderella's chambers that morning and found her bed empty, but a moments thought told him that the various ghastly visions that had filled his mind of kidnap, disappearance or flight were more his paranoia talking than anything likely.

His second instincts turned out to be the correct ones when he went downstairs and found Cinderella in the nursery, curled up asleep on the settee by the door.

She looked so peaceful, his lovely angel who was almost as beautiful when sleeping, her face serene in repose, as she was when she opened her sapphire eyes and her face was suffused with life and happiness, that a part of Eugene was loathe to wake her up. But it was half-past seven in the morning already and it was probably time, not to mention that there was a lot to do today.

And so he knelt by the side of the settee, and for a moment he stared at Cinderella's slumbering face, framed by her strawberry blonde hair as it fell loosely onto her cheek, resting on her bare arms; so beautiful.

Then he gave her a gentle nudge. "Cinderella, it's time to wake up."

Cinderella murmured something indistinct, before her blue eyes fluttered open. "Oh. Eugene; good morning," she said.

"Good morning," Eugene said. "Did you sleep well?"

"I suppose I-" Cinderella lifted her head off her arms, and only then seemed to notice what she was sleeping on. "Where am I?"

"In the nursery," Eugene said, with a smile on his face.

"Oh," Cinderella said. "Oh, yes, of course. I must have fallen asleep."

"Clearly," Eugene said dryly. "But if you were tired there's still a perfectly good bed up in your room."

Cinderella gave him a look that was a little amused and rather exasperated. "I'm afraid the perfectly good bed is a little too big for just one person."

Eugene didn't reply to that. While since his return from the American War and all through Cinderella's pregnancy he had shared her bed almost every night, since the birth of the girls he had been a complete stranger to it, leaving Cinderella at the door to her chambers before spending the night in his own. Cinderella had made it quite clear that she was bothered and unhappy about this, but she had never quite come out and asked him why he had suddenly changed his habits; for which Eugene was quite grateful. He had a reason, and a very good one in his mind, but it was also a reason that Cinderella seemed unlikely to appreciate, and he didn't want to argue with her over it. So he said nothing, and waited for her to drop the subject.

She did, thankfully, moving on to an explanation of why she was asleep in the nursery. "I thought I heard Annabelle crying, so I came down to check on the girls."

"Were they alright?"

"It was actually Isabelle who was crying," Cinderella said, as she got off the settee and rose to her feet. "But I was able to calm her down. But I didn't want to leave them right away after that, and then…I suppose I fell asleep."

"If you're going to make a habit of this then at least wear a nightgown with sleeves," Eugene said, placing his hands on Cinderella's bare, pale arms as he kissed her good morning. "It won't do the girls any good at all if their mother catches her death of cold while tending to them."

Unfortunately, that was not an idle worry for anyone at the moment. This very winter, shortly after the New Year's turn, Philippe's grandmother Madame Clairval had caught a winter chill…not long afterwards she was dead. For all that Madame Clairval had been an old woman and Cinderella was young, nevertheless Eugene had some doubts about her health: childbirth had nearly taken her from him and she didn't always eat as much as she ought to. He couldn't be complacent where she was concerned.

"The weather is starting to warm up now," Cinderella said. "I don't feel cold."

"All the same, I worry about you," Eugene said, pulling her close into an embrace and kissing her on the top of her head. "I always have, and I think I always will."

Cinderella closed her eyes as she rested her head on his chest. "I know. It's very sweet, even if it is a little frustrating at times."

Eugene chuckled. "If you won't take care for my sake then at least think of the children. What would they do without their mother?"

"Well, I hope you're not offended if I say I don't entirely trust you to choose a good stepmother," Cinderella said, and her eyes twinkled as she looked up at him with a slight smile. "Even my father wasn't able to do that well."

"Cinderella," Eugene said. "I'm being sincere."

"Then I sincerely hope that you believe me when I say I have no intention of letting my children grow up without me," Cinderella declared. "I mean to love them for each and every day of their lives."

The children chose that moment to wake up, as the sound of crying rose from the crib behind Eugene.

Eugene let go of Cinderella as his wife led the way towards the cradle, smiling down at their girls as she bent down over the ornate wooden crib. "Good morning, darlings," she said, as she scooped up the bawling Isabelle in her arms. "Good morning, Isabelle. Are you hungry, my dear? Eugene, would you please undo my nightgown?"

They had a wetnurse – and a head nurse, and an upper nurse, and an under nurse; in fact the only position in the nursery that remained unfilled was that of nursery governess - if only because Cinderella was so busy, but her own inclinations were to breastfeed the girls herself when possible, and the latest literature on good motherhood supported her in this approach. So Eugene deftly unfastened the back of Cinderella's white nightgown so that she could shrug it off her shoulder and expose her breast, on which little Isabelle gratefully began to suckle a moment later.

As Cinderella smiled down at her suckling babe, Eugene lifted Annabelle out of the crib and couldn't help but laugh at the greedily envious eyes she was shooting towards Isabelle as she fed.

Eugene, honestly, felt a touch of fear that he might have to try and find some way of keeping his other daughter amused and distracted until it was her turn – and how would he know the first thing about how to do that – but as she was still feeding Isabelle Cinderella began to sing. It was a simple song, about a mother's love for her children, but it was sung in her lovely voice and made even more lovely for being sung not only with that voice but from that gentle heart and filled with the love she felt for their sweet babes. It gently caressed them, and calmed them both as she fed first Isabelle, and then Annabelle, and laid them both back down in their cradle looking happy and contented, for the moment at least.

She leaned over the cradle, looking down upon them both with a fond smile illuminating her face.

"They're perfect, aren't they?" she asked him, her voice soft so as not to disturb the two of them.

Eugene put his hand on top of Cinderella's. "They are. Have you thought any more about who you want as nursery governess?"

Cinderella shook her head slowly. "I'm spoiled for choice." She glanced at him. "And I'm a little worried about offending whoever I don't choose."

"These people love you," Eugene told her, as if she needed reminding. "I'm not entirely sure that it's possible for you to offend them, even if you wanted to."

Cinderella smiled at him, if only for a moment. "All the same, I still don't know who to choose. They all…I suppose that it would be easier if I knew what kind of a person I wanted as the governess. Angelique would be very no-nonsense, I'm sure, but is that what I want? Is it what we want?"

"It might counterbalance your kindness."

"You make it sound as if Angelique isn't kind, which isn't true at all," Cinderella said. "She's very kind, she just…you understand, don't you?"

"Yes," Eugene said.

"Christine is very clever; Augustina would teach them how to behave like real ladies, so they wouldn't have to try and work it out as they went along and make so many mistakes as their mother," Cinderella continued.

"If they're half as successful as you've been in so short a time they'll have cause to think themselves lucky," Eugene said.

Cinderella shook her head as though she didn't quite believe him, as though she wasn't the most beloved member of the royal family by far, as though she hadn't changed government policy, ruled Armorique, done so many things that any born prince would be proud of. She shook her head as though she still didn't understand just how wonderful she was.

Perhaps she didn't. Perhaps she never would.

That, in its own way, was a part of what made her so wonderful.

* * *

Cinderella had gently teased Eugene that she didn't trust him to choose a good stepmother for the girls if anything were to happen to her – but as she'd made clear, that wasn't an insult to him, since her father had chosen particularly well either – but the truth was that since Madame Clairval had so sadly passed away she had found it much easier to understand just why Papa had decided that marrying again had been in Cinderella's best interest. Since young Philippe found himself without a grandmother, Cinderella had come to the same conclusion that her father had after Cinderella's mother passed away: Philippe needed a mother's care. His grandfather, the King, was very fond but also very busy, and Eugene…Cinderella hoped that Eugene would be closer to his daughters than he was to his son. Cinderella was busy herself, but not so busy that she couldn't make time for her stepson, and although wherever he lived in the palace Philippe would still find most of his needs being taken care of by servants, nevertheless Cinderella wanted to do what she could for him, and to have him close by so that she could keep an eye on him. And so, with the permission of His Majesty, Philippe had been moved out of his former room in the King's Tower and across the palace to the Queen's Tower, where Cinderella was.

And it was to this new room that Cinderella went after bidding the girls good morning and feeding them – Eugene didn't come with her, as he had left to speak to his father…Cinderella really did hope he would be more present in the lives of his daughters than he was in his son – to find that Madeline, the upper nurserymaid, was waiting for her outside the door.

"Good morning, ma'am," Madeline said, as she curtsied.

"Good morning, Madeline," Cinderella said. "Is he awake?"

"Oh, no ma'am, I know as how you like to wake him yourself," Madeline said.

"Thank you," Cinderella said, as she gently pushed open the door into the bedroom.

Philippe's new room was set into the east side of the tower, and once the curtains were drawn the light would stream in to fill the whole room with airy brightness. But Cinderella didn't want to wake Philippe up by unexpectedly rudely drawing the curtains on him. Instead, while Madeline lingered in the doorway, Cinderella crept across the room – narrowly avoiding tripping over a toy horse on the way – and knelt down by Philippe's bedside. It occurred to her with a degree of amusement that Eugene had done the exact same thing to her not long ago.

She gave Philippe a couple of gentle nudges. "Philippe? Wake up, Philippe, its morning."

Philippe murmured something indistinct, shuffled and squirmed under the covers of his bed, and then blearily opened his eyes. He was his father in miniature, and only seemed to be becoming more like him as he got older. He was only five years old but already the resemblance was uncanny to Cinderella's eyes. There was no mistaking whose son he was.

 _If only-_

Cinderella pushed that thought aside. Eugene had his reasons, she was sure.

Just as he had his reasons for having forsaken her bed since the girls were born.

But now wasn't the time to be thinking about _that_ either, and so Cinderella put all of that to the back of her mind as she greeted Philippe with a smile as bright as the day that was about to greet him too. "Good morning, Philippe? Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," he said, as he rubbed his eyes and yawned, which somewhat called the answer into question. "Good morning, mother."

Cinderella froze. The smile became fixed on her face. Had she just heard him right? Surely she must have misheard him, or else he had misspoken, because he couldn't…had he just called her 'mother'?

"Philippe," she murmured, and she was afraid that she couldn't stop herself from sounding a little bit nervous. "What did you just say to me?"

"I said 'good morning, mother'," Philippe said, proving that it was neither a mistake nor a sign that she needed to have her ears looked at. He frowned a little. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Cinderella said quickly, because as much as she wasn't sure what she felt about what he had just said to her – and heavens knew what Eugene would say when he found out about it – it wasn't Philippe's fault, and she had no desire to be cross with him or to even make him think that she was upset with him. So she brightened her smile once more, and filled her voice with warm assurance. "No, of course not." She kissed him on the forehead, before sweeping over to the curtains and flinging them open to admit the light. "How can anything be wrong on such a lovely morning?"

Philippe began to climb out of bed. "Good morning, Maddy."

Madeline's smile was fond as she curtsied. "Good morning, your grace. I'm glad to hear you slept well."

"How are my sisters, mother?" Philippe asked.

There it was again, but Cinderella ignored it, focussing more upon the question that he had actually asked. He really was a sweet boy, to ask about his half-sisters like that without a trace of jealousy. "They're both very well this morning, thank you so much for asking." She walked back to the bed, sitting against the centre of the north wall, and sat down upon it. "Now, what are you doing today?"

Philippe looked a little unhappy. "I have to learn _grammar_."

Cinderella covered her mouth with one hand as she let out a little chuckle. "You don't sound very happy about that."

Philippe folded his arms grumpily. "I'd rather eat _sprouts_!"

Cinderella chuckled again. "Well, I'm very sorry to hear that, but Philippe you must pay attention and work hard in your lessons."

"But why?"

"Because," Cinderella hesitated for a moment, wondering whether the answer that immediately came to mind was suitable for a child. She decided that it was, or at least that it might be, although she hoped not. "Because, if you don't pay attention to your lessons and your education, other people will realise that there are a lot of things you don't know that they do, and they will laugh at you for it, even if it is only behind your back. And they might even take advantage of you because they think you're stupid. So it's important that you work very hard, so that no one ever has any reason to look down on you. And besides, I'm sure it's what your grandmother would want, so will you work hard, for our sakes?"

Philippe looked sullen for a moment, but then he said, "Alright, I will."

"Good boy," Cinderella said. "It might be hard work but it will be worth it, I promise. And not all of your lessons will be boring. You'll learn to ride a horse, and fence with a sword like your father." That wasn't something Cinderella was necessarily looking forward to, but Philippe certainly looked excited at the prospect. "But only if you concentrate on your grammar."

"I will, I will," Philippe said, with more enthusiasm this time. "What are you doing today, mother?"

"I am meeting two very important guests today," Cinderella said. "The prince of a place called the Franche-Comte and his wife have arrived in the city to talk to your grandfather, and I am going to go and say hello to them and invite them both here for a welcoming banquet which I'll get ready before they arrive."

"Oh," Philippe said. "Does this mean you won't have time to play with me today."

"Of course not, Philippe, I always have time for you," Cinderella said, kneeling down on the floor and hugging him. The guide to motherhood and household management that she had read stated authoritatively that what it called 'the children's hour', the hour when the mother devoted herself entirely to the care of her children ot the exclusion of all else, should be an institution in every household, a happy time for the children – indeed, according to the guide it should be the happiest time of their day – and a relief for the servants; and while to an extent the guide primarily existed to provide Cinderella with justification for doing what her instincts led her to want to do anyway – if the book had told her that ignoring the children as much as humanly possible in a bid to toughen them up was the height of good motherhood she would probably have ignored it – she was glad to be told that, in this at least, her instincts where correct. She endeavoured to spend at least one hour of each day with Philippe, and another with the girls, and never so far had she spent less than an hour a day with each of them, not counting good mornings and bedtimes. If that meant that she had to read some papers late into the night, or work a little harder at her other tasks and duties during the day to get them done quicker, then what of that?

She kissed him again, on the cheek this time. "Now, I have to leave you with Madeline now, but I promise that I will see you later?" She got up. "I'm looking forward to it already. Goodbye, Philippe!" she called, as she walked to the door.

"Goodbye, Mother!"

Cinderella looked back, and smiled at him, but when she closed the door she let out a sigh that was as troubled as her heart.

 _He called me mother. He called_ me _mother._ And she had no idea what to do about it.

"Princess? Are you alright?"

Cinderella looked up, to see Angelique standing in front of her, wearing a red dressing-gown over her nightdress, looking a little worried.

"Angelique," Cinderella said. "How many times do I have to ask you to call me Cinderella?"

"You can ask as many times as you want as long as you're not trying to change a more important subject," Angelique replied, displaying exactly the attitude that would, Cinderella felt, make her a very no-nonsense governess. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Cinderella shook her head. "It's nothing, really. I don't want to bother you with it, I'm sure that you were on your way somewhere important."

"I was going down to get the papers, but this is more important," Angelique said. "Is something wrong with Philippe? Is he ill?"

"No, he's fine," Cinderella said. She hesitated for a moment, but Angelique _was_ very wise after all, certainly when it came to people, and Cinderella might as well ask the advice of someone that she trusted. "He called me 'mother'," she said, after a moment. "More than once, so I know that it wasn't a mistake. Philippe, he…he called me 'mother'."

"I see," Angelique said, as she nodded slowly. She folded her arms. "Does that upset you?"

"It doesn't make me cross, if that's what you mean," Cinderella said. Her own stepmother had gotten very annoyed whenever Cinderella had called her 'mother', even when father was alive she hadn't liked it and she had definitely refused to tolerate it after Cinderella's father died. She was _not_ Cinderella's mother, she had no intention of being Cinderella's mother, and she wasn't going to give Cinderella even the illusion of comfort that might come from letting her pretend that she might be.

"Honestly, I can't say that I'm surprised," Angelique said.

"Aren't you?" Cinderella asked.

"He's five years old and his mother died bringing him into the world," Angelique said. "Meanwhile you kiss him good morning, you kiss him goodnight, you tell him stories, you play with him…you're the only mother he's ever known."

"But I'm not his mother," Cinderella replied. "He had a mother who loved him, even if she isn't with us any longer. It feels…it feels a little disrespectful to her, and to his grandmother as well, as though I'm trying to pretend that Katharine didn't exist." Cinderella had never known Katharine, the ballet dancer who had been Eugene's mistress before he and Cinderella met and were married, but from what General Gerard had told her she had been a good, kind woman, and her mother Madame Clairval had impressed Cinderella very much. It was a great regret of Cinderella's that she wasn't able to get advice on how to be a good mother from her, someone who had actually been a mother. It felt wrong, in some way, to take their son and grandson away from them by allowing him to think of Cinderella as his mother.

"I'm sure he isn't going to forget his grandmother," Angelique said. "And with the best will in the world…he'll never know that other woman the way that he knows you…never love her the way that he loves you. How can he? You're right here, and he never even saw her face."

Cinderella pursed her lips. Angelique made a lot of sense, but all the same… "What will Eugene say about it?" she asked. Eugene had loved Katharine, loved her so much that there was a good chance that she, not Cinderella, would have been the princess of Armorique if she had lived (and been willing to marry Eugene). He might not take kindly to Cinderella attempting to supplant her in Philippe's heart.

"Is he ever around the boy long enough to find out?" Angelique asked.

"Angelique," Cinderella said, with just a touch of sharpness entering her voice. "That's rather unkind of you to say."

Angelique cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, princess; forgive me. The point is…can I be frank?"

"Of course," Cinderella said. She smiled. "Are you ever not?"

Angelique snorted. "The time for you to be worrying about this was before you decided to move him up here and be his mother, not now. Do you regret it?"

"No," Cinderella said, at once and with a little hurt in her voice that Angelique would suggest it. "No, of course not, I love him."

"Then if that's true and you don't actually dislike him calling you mother I don't see what you have to worry about," Angelique said. "He's not calling you that because he's putting a lot of thought into it and how his late grandmother, god rest her soul, fits into it. He calls you mother because you are his mother, because he can see that plain as day; I think that deep down you can see it too. And if his highness can't see it…no offence but perhaps he needs to look harder.

"But…if you don't want him to you can always tell him to stop."

"Yes," Cinderella murmured. Yes, she could do that. She could remind him that she was only his _step_ mother and he was only her _step_ son and Isabelle and Annabelle were only his _half_ -sisters, but what would that do to him. Cinderella had never loved Lady Tremaine, but it had still hurt her to be rebuffed, to be so forcefully reminded that the woman was not and had no intention of being her mother, especially after her father died when it was made clear to her that her only family was gone and she was not welcome in the 'family' that remained to her.

She couldn't do that to Philippe. She wouldn't. Not now that she was his family. No, it would be too cruel.

"I could tell him to stop," Cinderella said. "But I won't."

Angelique smiled. "I never really thought you would."

Cinderella would just have to hope that Eugene understood that it was as Angelique had said: she was Philippe's mother now.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Cinderella's indecision about who to appoint as the governess mirrors my own; all of the candidates have merits and I can't really make up my mind between them._

 _On Philippe calling Cinderella 'mother' and whether she should allow it, after I had the idea I looked on some mothering websites to see what the consensus was and found opinions mixed on whether to allow it. I take comfort in knowing that I'm not 'wrong' even if I'm not 100% right._

 _Isabella Beeton's_ The Book of Household Management _recommended that 'the children's hour' should be an institution in every home, and that mothers should breastfeed their own children wherever possible. Cinderella's position means that she won't always have time (or, indeed, energy) but it felt in character for her to at least do some of it._

 _I'm sorry that Cinderella hasn't met Belle yet, but I wanted to show some of the motherhood stuff first (and also remind myself how to write Cinderella before the big meeting takes place) before we get to that._

 _But it will happen next chapter, I promise._


	8. When Cinderella met Belle

When Cinderella met Belle

Cinderella went down to breakfast to find that Eugene and his father were already there, awaiting her arrival.

"Ah, there you are; good morning, my dear," the King greeted her.

"Good morning, your majesty," Cinderella said, curtsying slightly to him as she made her way to the head of the long dining table. Eugene pulled out her chair for her, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she sat down.

"I trust you slept well?" the King asked, with a touch of jovial humour in his tone and a hint of a twinkle in his eye.

A quick glance up at Eugene confirmed to Cinderella that he had told his father about where he had found her sleeping. She smiled. "I did, your majesty, even if it wasn't in my bed."

The King chuckled. "There was a time when I suggested to my own wife that she should have a bed set up in the nursery, since she slept there so many nights."

"And did she, your majesty?"

"No, but that didn't stop her sleeping there," the King said, with laughter in his voice.

"I don't remember that," Eugene said, as he made his way around his father to take his place at the table.

"How could you, you were a mere babe," the King said. "By the time that you were old enough to notice these things your mother had stopped worrying quite so much."

"I can't imagine that at the moment, your majesty," Cinderella murmured.

"Neither could she at the time, I imagine," the King said. He clapped his hands together and gestured towards the table as he addressed the footmen standing on the door. "You may begin bringing out the food."

"At once, your majesty," one of the footmen said, bowing before he disappeared into the kitchen.

The King picked up a napkin and tucked it into his collar. "Cinderella, I understand you intend to call on Prince Adam in person today, and deliver the invitation to tonight's banquet?"

"Yes, your majesty," Cinderella said. "I thought it would be nice to welcome them to Armorique in person."

"It certainly shows the prince a great deal of respect on our part," the King said. "Respect I'm not sure the size of his realm warrants, but I suppose he is here as an Imperial envoy."

"Yes, your majesty," said Cinderella, because it was easier to agree than to try and explain that she probably would have done the same – or wanted to – no matter the size of his country. And after all, her personal desire to meet Prince Adam's wife, who was said to have been a commoner herself before she married Prince Adam morganatically, had no real relevance to the diplomacy of the state.

"What time are you thinking of calling upon him?"

"I thought I'd go see them at about ten, your majesty," Cinderella said. "I don't know how early or late they get up, so I didn't want to be too early in case I embarrassed them."

"That seems fair enough," the King said, as the first of the breakfast – a tray of delicious smelling pastries fresh from the over – was brought out to them. "If the Privy Council meeting is moved back to one in the afternoon, will that give you enough time with Prince Adam?"

"That should be plenty, your majesty, thank you."

"Will you have enough time to attend the council meeting and do everything else that needs to be done?" Eugene asked.

"I'm sure that I'll manage," Cinderella said, because as much as she refused to compromise on spending time with her children she was also loath to give up on helping Eugene with his work in running the country either; she would rather work doubly hard than give up on anything. "It's not as though I need to set the table myself." When she had told Philippe that she was going to get the banquet what she had meant was that she would be giving a few directions to the servants, and even that might not be necessary since they were so experienced in this sort of thing.

Cinderella looked back to the King. "Your majesty," she began, with a slight hint of tremulousness in her voice because it was an unorthodox request that she was about to make and she wasn't sure how her father-in-law would react to it. "About Prince Adam's wife…I understand that it's a morganatic marriage."

The King's mouth was full, but he nodded nonetheless, and Cinderella waited for him to finish chewing and swallow. He said, "Yes. Some village girl from near his castle, wasn't it?"

"Something like that, I think, your majesty," Cinderella said, trying not to think too hard about how so many people had dismissed her as just a servant girl from a chateau near the palace in the past. "But…I was hoping that we might treat her as if she were his full and equal wife while she's our guest."

The King frowned. "But she is not his equal wife."

"That doesn't mean that we _have_ to stick her at the very bottom of the table, your majesty," Cinderella said. "I don't see the harm in seating her on her husband's right and opposite me." A ruling prince took precedent over a crown prince, so on the occasion of tonight's banquet Prince Adam would sit at the King's right hand where Eugene usually sat, and Eugene would sit on the left in the place more commonly occupied by Cinderella; Cinderella herself would, by a strict reading of the protocols involved, sit on Prince Adam's right as the crown princess and, by marriage, highest ranking member of the court after Eugene and the King himself. But if Prince Adam's wife – whose name, in a demonstration of the low regard in which she was commonly held, had not been given to Cinderella; Eugene had been at her wedding and yet even he couldn't remember what she was called – had been, like Cinderella herself, a princess by marriage then she would have ranked higher – as a princess consort rather than crown princess, wife to a ruling prince rather than an heir apparent – and so she would have claimed the right hand place and banished Cinderella to a place on Eugene's left. It was this seating arrangement that Cinderella was proposing to implement regardless of the exact niceties of Prince Adam's marital status.

"Don't see the harm!" the King cried, making Cinderella flinch from the boom of his voice. His Majesty had been, for the most part, very kind to her, considerate of her feelings in all sorts of circumstances, understanding of her unfamiliarity with her position and situation; in many respects he had been a second father to her. But what he had done, what Grace had made him do…Cinderella could not wholly banish from her mind the way that he had beaten her about the head and face in a fury, and though he had not been himself and although he had never threatened to do anything like that since…it was cruel of her, perhaps, and she could see in his face the way that it hurt him…but she couldn't help it, she couldn't remain stoic in the face of a sign of anger from him when it seemed that it might be directed at her.

The King looked shamefaced, and his voice dropped immediately. "I'm sorry, my dear, but you must understand that many of my lords and ministers may see a great deal of harm in some common girl, without even a countess title to her name, being set above them in status at the table."

"Perhaps, Father, you should give Cinderella a chance to explain why she wants this?" Eugene suggested.

Cinderella smiled gratefully at him. "I would like to do this, your majesty, because when I think of that poor woman I can't help but think that that so easily could have been me: having to sit at the very bottom of the table, separated from Eugene by everyone else; forced to give way at balls to anyone higher than me, which would have been practically everyone, who wanted to dance with him; not respected by anyone…well, even less respected than I was. That's what His Grace tried to do to me, at one time…I can't bring myself to inflict that one somebody else, not when she's our guest here." It would be so unbelievably callous of her, to do to someone else what she had so protested against having done to her, that it would have proved her to be every bit as selfish as her stepsisters had accused her of being. She wouldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

If His Majesty would not allow this then she would have no choice but to join Prince Adam's wife at the very foot of the table with the most minor of notables for the sake of her conscience.

She was about to say so, when His Majesty spoke, "I will not set some common woman above the wife of my son and the mother of my grandchildren, above the future Queen of Armorique and mother to a queen more future still. But I cannot deny there is some justice in what you say, Cinderella; though you have some noble blood, many have argued that you were only fit for the same condition in which this poor woman languishes. We will place her upon Eugene's left, and generally treat her – although after you in status – as if she were a true wife to the prince."

"Thank you, your majesty," Cinderella said. "Thank you so much."

They ate breakfast, and then once the morning meal was out of the way Cinderella spent the next hour or so supervising the beginnings of the preparations for the banquet and the ball, before going back up to her room to change for her visit to the prince and his wife.

As Duchamp helped her to undress, preparatory to dressing in something suitable to call upon a ruling prince, Cinderella couldn't help but examine herself in the mirror, holding her stomach as she turned to the side to see how it looked in profile.

"Duchamp," she said, sounding a little nervous if only for fear that she wouldn't like the answer. "Do you think that I've kept some of the weight I had since I had the girls?"

Duchamp paused in the middle of what she was doing. "No, ma'am," she said. "I think that you've regained the figure you had before you got with child."

Cinderella frowned. Was that really true, or was Duchamp flattering her? No, that couldn't be it, her lady's maid had always been perfectly honest with her in the past, even – especially – when she thought Cinderella was making a mistake. As she herself had told Cinderella once, a lady's maid who flatters her mistress ended up dismissed once the flattering illusions came into contact with reality. And yet…there had to be a reason why Eugene had forsaken her bed since the birth of the twins, and the best explanation that Cinderella could think of for the abrupt change was that childbirth had made her unattractive.

It was true that her being heavily pregnant, with her belly massively swollen as a result, hadn't stopped Eugene from sleeping beside her, but then if that was not the answer then what was it?

 _Perhaps I should just ask him why he's stopped coming to bed._

 _But then if he tells me the truth…what if the reason is that he's simply fallen out of love with me, what am I supposed to do then?_

 _You're being ridiculous, he still loves me; I can tell from the way he treats me._

 _But then why doesn't he want to love me any more?_

"Ma'am?" Duchamp asked. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Cinderella said quickly. It was a lie, but these weren't the sort of things that she felt comfortable sharing completely with Duchamp, or with anyone really, even her closest friends. This was between Eugene and herself, if either of them ever had the courage to actually speak openly about it. "Actually, Duchamp, there is one thing."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I'm not entirely sure how I want to present myself to Prince Adam, and especially to his wife," Cinderella said. She bowed her head a little. "I don't want her to think that I'm flaunting my good fortune over her. I can only imagine what she's had to put up with." Whoever she was, this mystery woman, she must love Prince Adam very much indeed for her to willing accept such a fate in return for the joy that being his wife brought to her. Cinderella could only hope that, while they were her guests in Armorique, she could help them to be happy together and not be instead another person adding to the misery of the unknown wife's morganatic position. It was for that reason that she was wary of turning up at their door in too fancy a frock, wearing a large amount of jewellery; she was afraid that she would seem like the worst sort of snob in their eyes. "But, at the same time, I want to be myself. If we're going to be spending a lot of time together, and I hope that we will, then I don't want to have to spend all that time pretending to be someone I'm not; I'm sure I wouldn't manage it anyway." Cinderella very much hope that they would become friends, not only because she wished to make a great success of her first time hosting visiting foreign royals in Armorique, but also because if she was right, if this other woman's experiences were anything like Cinderella's own at all, then she could probably use a friend while she was here.

Duchamp took pause for a moment. "I think, ma'am, that you have no cause to be ashamed of the pretty things that you have, nor to hide them away because others lack so many. And besides, morganatic need not mean poor; it may well be that this lady of the Franche-Comte has had so much bestowed on her by her husband."

"Yes, I suppose that is always possible," Cinderella said. And perhaps even likely to, for they must love each other very much, as much as Eugene loved her or perhaps…perhaps even more. "Thank you, Duchamp, I shall be myself. The lady of the Franche-Comte will take me as I am, I hope, and if not…then I suppose we shall have a slightly less comfortable time together then I would have liked.

"Very good, ma'am."

Cinderella dressed, as was her habit, in a white gown with a full, pouffy ballgown skirt with fell to the floor and whose width was accentuated by several layers of petticoat underneath. The collar – as white as the bodice – descended off her shoulders, swooping down the neckline by way of her breasts before rising again to slip around the other shoulder, but a splash of colour was provided by the presence – one at each shoulder and the third in the centre of the neckline, over her cleavage – of three pink roses. Her arms were bare, but as was her wont Cinderella covered her hands, somewhat callused and hardened from years of manual labour, with a pair of white silk gloves that concealed everything until the wrist from view. The peplum of her gown was pink and long, falling just past the level of Cinderella's hips, and a sash of slightly darker pink was tied around her waist into a giant bow behind her.

Cinderella decided not to be quite so completely herself as to cover her otherwise bare arms in jewellery as she sometimes did, but restrained herself to a single bracelet upon each arm: on the right, a double-strand pearl bracelet fastened tightly around her wrist, and on the left a single string of pearls, also fastened tightly but a little further up her arm. Around her neck Cinderella wore a necklace of large pearls, each the size of her thumb, which fastened snugly around her throat, while a pair of pearl earrings peaked out from underneath her strawberry blonde hair, which she wore down behind her shoulders, with her favourite white bow hairband to secure it. As a final touch, Cinderella picked a white rose from the vase of red and white roses that sat on the bedside table, and wove it carefully into her hair just ahead of her hairband.

"Thank you, Duchamp," Cinderella said, as she slipped her feet into her white slippers with the pink bows upon the toes, and turned first this way and then the other in front of the mirror. "That looks absolutely wonderful."

"I'm glad you think so, ma'am," Duchamp said.

And with that, it was time for Cinderella to go – although since she hadn't actually made an appointment with Prince Adam and his wife at least she couldn't actually be late. Nevertheless, it was approaching the time that Cinderella herself had set to go and call upon them, and if she was late then His Majesty's moving the council meeting for her convenience would have been for nothing, and so Cinderella decided that now that she was ready she should really be going.

She descended the many stairs that separated her rooms at the very top of the Queen's Tower from the ground alone, grateful that she no longer needed to be chaperoned absolutely everywhere for fear that she would fall as had been the case when she was carrying the girls.

Eugene and Jean were both waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, and Cinderella had to admit that, after her doubts about whether Eugene still found her attractive to look on, she quite enjoyed seeing the way his eyes and face lit up as she saw her slowly descend the final staircase.

He took her gently by the hand, and raised it to his lips. "You look absolutely lovely. Adam will be enchanted."

"I hope not, for his wife's sake," Cinderella replied, as she stood on tiptoes to kiss Eugene on the lips. "What's he like, Prince Adam?"

Eugene shrugged. "I only met the man once, at his wedding, and we didn't have a great deal of time to talk; we were introduced, we greeted one another…and then he moved on to the next guest he had to say sweet nothings too. His father had a terrible reputation, but the man himself…something of a recluse, as I understand."

"I see," Cinderella murmured. She didn't ask anything more about Prince Adams' father because it would have meant nothing to her either way; Prince Adam was not his father, and if the man himself had enjoyed the same terrible reputation then she was certain that Eugene would never have let her greet him alone. And besides, what kind of woman would enter into a morganatic marriage, a marriage where you were nearly guaranteed to be slighted, snubbed and abused by every manner of snob imaginable, to a terrible man. Whatever else he was, Prince Adam was worthy of a woman's love, and as such he could not be all bad. "I'll see you later?"

"Of course," Eugene said. "Have a good time."

"I will, I hope," Cinderella said. Eugene kissed her goodbye upon each cheek, and then walked her out to where an open-topped carriage – the weather really was warming up, and it was such a lovely day with the sky so blue and so untroubled by any clouds that it would have been a pity to have shut herself up within a closed coach – was waiting to take her away. Eugene helped her up into the carriage even if he did not mount himself. It was Jean who got in with her, seating himself opposite her but not looking at her, rather he cast his eyes in every direction other than at Cinderella as though he was afraid that there might be assassins lurking in the bushes of the palace grounds waiting to spring out at any moment.

Although, even if there wasn't anything for him to be alarmed about, Cinderella couldn't deny that his vigilant attentiveness made her feel safe. He had saved her from so many enemies already that it almost seemed as though his mere presence would suffice to protect her.

Eugene waved her goodbye as the carriage bore her out of the gates and into the streets of the capital. Cinderella opened up a parasol, which threw a thin film of shadow over her to protect her from the sun, and held onto it with one hand as with her other hand she waved to the people on the streets who waved to her, who called her name, who wished God's blessings upon her and her children.

Even Jean's suspicions seemed softened by the affection that was heaped upon her from every side as they travelled through the streets. "You are so very loved, your highness."

"And I am so very grateful," Cinderella murmured, as she waved. She felt somewhat entitled to think that she had come along way since her engagement to Eugene a little more than two years ago now. Those who had sought to destroy her – the Serenas, the Graces, the Henrys – were all gone now, and while she had no doubt that there were still some who looked down on her for having once been a servant girl, they kept it to themselves and Cinderella could walk without hearing whispers behind her back, or enduring open mockery at the ball or the gala. She still did not have many friends, beyond her faithful ladies in waiting, but at least she had no more enemies, or at least those that she had were harmless. Serena remained in genteel custody, Cinderella hadn't heard anything out of her since she had departed to the estate where, to this day, she remained; Lucien Gerard was in America, he wrote to Cinderella from time to time but Cinderella burned the letters unopened, that is when Angelique or Marinette didn't get hold of them first and burn them for her. Her stepmother and stepsisters remained in the chateau that Cinderella had once called home, declining ever further into poverty and incurring ever greater debts, from what Cinderella heard, to maintain themselves in the standard to which they had become accustomed. She sometimes felt guilty that she was allowing that to happen to them…but she reminded herself that she had given them a chance and Drizella had betrayed her; she couldn't be blamed, surely, for having run out of patience with those who had proved time and time again that they held nothing but hatred for her in their hearts.

No, Cinderella's enemies were all gone now or toothless, and if she did not have many friends then at least she had the love of the people, who liked her even if they did not know her. Of course she had to earn that affection each day by working on their behalf, but they worked every day on behalf of Armorique to keep Cinderella and Eugene and the whole family in state and luxury – something that the republican commentators who still spoke out against her and the entire royal family in the pages of the most radical newspapers never tired of pointing out – so the effort was not something Cinderella begrudged them.

Hopefully the upcoming peace conference would not suck all her energies or that of the government wholly away from domestic affairs. There was still so much that could be done.

These ruminations carried Cinderella – almost as much as the carriage itself – to the house that Prince Adam's messenger had given as the address at which he and his wife and household would be staying for the duration; Cinderella noticed that it was not far at all from the house that Frederica of Normandie was renting, the area must have a lot of vacant houses of a scale and luxury attractive to visiting royals – if Frederica could still be called a visitor given that she had no intention of leaving any time soon.

Jean dismounted from the carriage first, before helping Cinderella down to the street. He glanced at something, and Cinderella followed his gaze to see that he was looking at a rather scruffy officer in a white uniform, and a young woman in the garb of the outdoors, both of whom had just emerged from the stables beside the house and were watching Cinderella.

"I'm sure they don't mean any harm, Jean," Cinderella murmured, although to tell the truth there was something about the look of the army officer in the unkempt white uniform that was making her a little uneasy.

Nevertheless, Jean bowed his head to her. "As you say, your highness." He turned away, and mounted the stone steps leading up the red front door of the rented house. He grasped the brass doorknock and brought it down hard three times.

After a moment the door was answered by a pretty maid in a black dress that – like most of those owned by Cinderella – left her arms bare. Her eyes flickered from Jean to Cinderella, and she seemed to decide that the uniform young man at her door was only a herald for the gowned and bejewelled lady behind him because it was to Cinderella that she curtsied. "Can I help you, my lady?"

"Her Royal Highness Cinderella, Princess of Rennes and Crown Princess of Armorique, wishes to speak to His Highness Prince Adam of the Franche-Comte," Jean said, with only a slight hesitation when it came to pronouncing 'Franche-Comte'.

The maid looked surprised, but to her credit she didn't hesitate. "Of course. Please come in, your highness."

"Shall I wait out here, princess?" Jean asked.

Cinderella considered it for a moment. A part of her wanted to take Jean inside with her, but that might make it seem to Prince Adam and his wife that she didn't trust them; and besides, it wasn't as if they had come all this way just to do her harm. "Are you sure you'll be alright out here? Will you comfortable waiting for me?"

"I'll be fine, your highness," Jean assured her.

"Alright then," Cinderella said, and hoped that he was being sincere and not just saying what he thought she wanted to hear. The carriage was comfortable enough, she supposed, but would he be bored? She hoped not.

But if he said it was alright then she would have to trust him, and so Cinderella left him outside as she climbed the three stone steps and, picking up her pouffy skirt with both hands, stepped over the threshold and into the hall of the house. It was sparsely decorated, which was understandable enough, with a bare wooden floor uncovered by any carpet, and little decoration on the walls either.

The maid curtsied to her. "I'll go and tell the master that you're here, if you'll please wait, your highness." And then she retreated, leaving Cinderella standing alone in the hallway.

Cinderella clasped her hands together and waited, looking around slightly aimlessly at the almost undecorated hallway. With little to do she began to imagine what Prince Adam and his wife might be like. His wife, especially. Would they get on with one another? Would they like each other, as Cinderella hoped, or would the woman who had thrown herself upon the mercy of the court for the sake of love despise Cinderella as a spoilt princess who had everything that she, as a morganatic wife, could not have? Would she envy Cinderella? Might she even hate her?

Cinderella's wild imaginings were interrupted before they spin too wildly out of control by the sound of whispering from not too far away.

"What do you mean you just left her there?" said a man's voice.

"So? There's no need to say it like that," the maid who had invited Cinderella in said defensively.

"But you can't just leave a princess standing in the hallway!"

"It's where we always used to leave them."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean it was ever right." The man sighed. "Tell the master, I'll take care of this."

A moment later a man, middle-aged or thereabouts, emerged into the hallway. He had a slightly long nose and light brown hair tied back into a queue. He bowed extravagantly before her. "Please forgive us, your highness, we weren't expecting visitors, and certainly not a visitor so grand as your good self."

"Oh, I'm sure I'm the one who should be apologising," Cinderella said. "After all, I didn't tell you that I was coming."

"Not at all, your highness, not at all," the man declared. "Now, the master will be down in just a moment-"

"And his wife?" Cinderella said. "I'm really rather keen to meet her."

That seemed to surprise the man, but he rallied very well. "I'm sure that she will down shortly also, just like that." He snapped his fingers. "But if you will kindly follow me, you will find the parlour far more suitable to wait than standing 'ere, I'm sure."

Cinderella was shown into an airy parlour room at the back of the house, where there were several large windows almost the length of the wall to let in the sunlight. The room was a little better appointed that the practically unfurnished hallway that she had just left; in that there was a settee and two chairs to sit on, tables on which to set any refreshments, and a clock on the wall in addition to a couple of paintings of what experience of society had taught Cinderella to recognise as pastoral scenes, even if the exact content or context still eluded her. It was not what she would have called fully furnished – you could spot the places on the wall where other paintings had been hung before being taken down by somebody – but it was not quite bare either. A statue of a young man in the classical style – nearly naked, in other words, with only a loincloth to cover his modesty – stood in the corner.

"Forgive us, your highness," the gentleman said as he led her in. "The master had wished to rent a fully furnished home and I tried to oblige him, but at short notice…it seems that for some in this country fully furnished does not mean what it means for us back home. I hope to secure a little more furniture in time."

"Please, monsieur, you don't need to keep apologising to me," Cinderella said. "As long as there are enough places to sit I'm sure that we'll be fine. May I sit anywhere?"

"Of course, princess," the man, which Cinderella took as an invitation to sit down upon the faded red settee. "Would you care for some tea while you wait?"

"That would be very nice, thank you monsieur," Cinderella said.

"But of course," he said, and he bowed to her before he left.

Cinderella was left alone again, although at least this time she had somewhere to sit. She looked down at her hands in her lap: the sunlight was making the diamond in the centre of her engagement ring sparkle. She idly fingered her wedding ring, turning the band of gold around and round upon her finger, until the pretty maid brought the tea which Cinderella sipped idly while she waited for Prince Adam and his wife to put in an appearance.

"I apologise if we've kept you waiting, highness."

Cinderella looked up from the cup of tea into which she had been staring, in time to see a man walk into the parlour with a lady upon his arm. She hastily put down the willow-patterned tea cup – it rattled a little upon the saucer – and got to her feet. "Not at all, your highness, I realise now that I perhaps shouldn't have called upon you without sending some word in advance; but I was simply so anxious to meet you both that I just couldn't help myself." She sidled around the table and took a few steps towards the couple, extending one white-gloved hand out towards the gentleman. "My name is Cinderella, well, Princess Cinderella of Armorique but I don't think there's any need to be that formal. You must be Prince Adam, of the Franche-Comte, I presume?"

To be perfectly honest, the thing that stood out most to Cinderella about Prince Adam of the Franche-Comte was his size; the man was a giant, not only tall but broad in shoulder too, he towered over both Cinderella and his wife and would have loomed over Eugene too, if he had been there. His Majesty would certainly be dwarfed by the visiting prince in their every meeting. And yet, despite his size and the width of his shoulders and the fact that he looked as though he could almost have picked up Cinderella and his wife both at the same time, there was very little that was brutish about the prince's appearance; in fact in some ways his features struck her as softer than those of Eugene, lacking her husband's firm, square jaw line; the fact that his golden hair was so long as to require a queue to tie it back added to the impression of a certain gentleness about him. In fact, for all that Jean was probably about half the prince's size with his hat on there was more of a sense of pugnacity about Cinderella's guard than she was getting from the visiting prince before her.

Prince Adam took Cinderella's had with a deft softness that spoke of an awareness of his own strength, and a desire not to demonstrate it unless it could not be avoided, and though he raised her hand to his lips he did not kiss it, but simply ran his lips close to, but not touching, her silk-embraced knuckles.

"Enchanted, your highness," he said, politely but without any warmth; in fact if Cinderella had to describe what she heard in his voice she might have gone so far as to call it wariness. "Allow me to introduce my wife, Belle."

Belle was…well, there was no other way to put it, she was beautiful. As beautiful as her name proclaimed and more. She was a little taller than Cinderella, although probably by no more than an inch or so, and she was comparatively plainly dressed in a pink day dress with a thin skirt that barely spread out around her, and sleeves that descended to just below her elbows, ending in frilly lace sleeves. But she had soft, beguiling doe eyes set in a heart-shaped face accentuated by the way she wore the bangs of her light brown hair; she had lithe arms and slender fingers, a fair complexion and, although she wasn't wearing any make-up that Cinderella could make out, she nevertheless had what seemed to be a natural blush upon her cheeks and a glow to her skin that made Cinderella – who required expensive artifice and the services of a skilled lady's maid in order to achieve the same effect – feel at once rather envious and put to shame.

As much to the point Belle made her feel rather over-dressed and over-ornamented; Cinderella had declared that she would be herself, and yet Belle was being far more herself in her lack of artifice and she was still outshining Cinderella handily (at least in Cinderella's impression).

Cinderella spent her life surrounded by pretty women: Frederica of Normandie was beautiful, Augustina was china-doll pretty, Angelique was cute, Christine possessed a graceful elegance; but Belle…Cinderella wondered if this was how her stepsisters had felt.

Unlike her stepsisters, however, Cinderella mentally resolved that she would _not_ succumb to jealousy. After all, what did she have to be jealous of? She had a husband who loved her, good friends, a stepson and two daughters whom she adored, an altogether wonderful life. While Belle…Cinderella could see the wedding ring gleaming on her left hand, a constant reminder of the limbo in which she lived. She might deserve Cinderella's respect for choosing and enduring the life she had, but she did not and could never deserve Cinderella's envy even if she had been the type to succumb to it.

So she smiled, and said, "Good morning, Belle; it's so good to meet you."

Belle's mouth was tight, and her voice was as wary as that of her husband as she said, "Likewise, your highness."

"Oh, please, there's no need for that, either of you," Cinderella said. "All of my friends call me Cinderella; or, almost all of them at least. There are one or two I haven't been able to persuade." Not only Angelique – it was slightly ironic that her dearest lady-in-waiting was the one who should still address her so remotely – and Jean but also the ever-proper Lady Christine continued to stand on ceremony with her.

Belle's eyebrows rose. "And are we friends?"

Cinderella blinked. "Well…perhaps not yet," she admitted. "But I certainly hope that we can be, and I think that would be easiest if we didn't have titles standing between us." She saw – or thought that she saw – in Belle's eyes that the other woman wasn't convinced, and she had to admit that she could understand why. She didn't know how much, if anything, Belle knew about her or her background, but she could imagine that after a while in her position it must become quite hard to trust the good intentions of people in Cinderella's position. Now it occurred to Cinderella that she had perhaps moved a little too quickly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Please forgive me, I…I've never done anything quite like this before; I mean with foreign dignitaries such as yourself, and I was so keen for this to go well. Perhaps we could sit down, or…" No, Cinderella decided that it would be best to remain standing, at least at first. She covered her mouth with one gloved hand as she cleared it. "Ahem. Prince Adam, Belle, on behalf of His Majesty, of my husband Prince Eugene, and of myself I bid you welcome to Armorique," as she spoke, Cinderella spread her arms out on either side of her. "And hope that your stay here will be both pleasant and profitable."

Belle looked at her for a moment, before her lips twitched upwards in the beginnings of a pretty smile. "Did you prepare that, by any chance?"

Cinderella hesitated for a moment. "Yes," she said. "I may even have practiced once or twice in front of the mirror. I really do mean it, though; please believe me. I…I'm your hostess here, and I really do want your stay to be the best that I can make it. If you need anything from me please, don't hesitate to call upon my help, day or night, except for when I'm with my children; that time is precious to me, I hope you understand."

"I do," Belle said, her voice emerging softly from between her lips. "My mother used to tell me that our time together was sacrosanct; even when I was too young to understand what that word meant I understood that there was something special in those hours."

Adam sounded both a little amused and, at the same time, a little sad as he said, "For myself, my father was never not too busy to spend time with me…and I can't help but wonder if that's one of the reasons why…never mind. You may be certain, high- Cinderella, that I completely respect the sanctity of those hours."

"We both do," Belle said. "We may be your guests but we have no claim upon your whole life, body and soul." She paused for a moment. "May I ask how many children you have?"

"Three," Cinderella said, smiling. "A stepson and two daughters."

Belle frowned slightly. "A stepson, but then you only have-"

"Three," Cinderella said, not unkindly but quite firmly nevertheless. If she had stopped to think about it she might have found it odd that, on the very same morning in which she had been filled with doubt at the idea of Philippe calling her 'mother' she should so bristle at the idea that he might not be her son, but then Cinderella wasn't thinking about it because, as far as she was concerned, there was nothing to think about. Stepson or no, she still had three children to love and raise and care for and no amount of words could ever change that. "I may not have brought Philippe into this world but he is still my child, and I am the only mother he has."

Belle's frown lifted, and her eyes brightened a little. "I see. I'm sorry if I upset you."

"No, please, don't apologise. And you? Do you have any children of your own?"

Belle's expression fell, and she looked down at the wooden floor. "No. I'm afraid we haven't been blessed."

"Oh," Cinderella said, her own feelings falling much like the look of Belle's face. "I am sorry, and sorry to have brought it up."

"Don't worry, its fine," Belle said quickly. "After all, there's still plenty of time."

"Perhaps we should sit down," Adam said. "And try some of the tea before it gets cold."

Cinderella gratefully returned to her seat on the settee, while Adam and Belle sat side by side in the twin armchairs on the other side of the table. Cinderella picked up her cup, and found that while it had cooled a little it was still perfectly drinkable.

Belle added a couple of lumps of sugar to her tea. "Pri- Cinderella," she corrected herself with a smile. "Did you really come all this way just to welcome us to your country?"

Cinderella covered her mouth with one hand to hide a chuckle. "It really isn't all that far from the palace, I assure you."

"Some princesses would have found it too far anyway," Belle pointed out.

Cinderella pursed her lips together. "I…I know that I can't really imagine what your life has been like, Belle…but I was just a servant when Prince Eugene asked me to be his wife, and only last year his cousin tried to have our marriage rendered morganatic because someone of my background wasn't fit to be the princess of this country. He didn't succeed, but…I know that this might sound like bragging or vanity but I hope I'm not like other princesses that you've met. I…I don't intend to treat you as anything less than myself for as long as you're here. That's another reason why I came here this morning: on behalf of the King, Prince Eugene and myself I would like to invite you both personally to a banquet and a ball to be held in your honour, to celebrate your arrival in Armorique; and at this banquet, Belle, I would be honoured if you would sit across the table from me." It occurred to Cinderella then that after she was finished here she should probably call on Frederica – who would be sitting next to Cinderella on her right but just below Belle – to soothe in advance any ruffled feathers that she might have about this; Frederica was a dear friend but Cinderella didn't know exactly how she'd react to this, and she didn't want her to be rude to Belle tonight.

Belle looked shocked, her eyes widened and her eyebrows rose towards her bangs and her mouth formed a started square in the bottom of her face. "You…you want me to sit next to you?"

"Yes," Cinderella said. "I would have had you sitting next to Prince Adam, but I'm afraid his majesty wouldn't allow me to go quite that far?"

"At the head of the table?" Adam asked. His voice rose a little as he demanded, "Is this a joke?"

"No!" Cinderella cried. "Do you think that this is a trick of some kind, I would never do such a thing?"

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Belle asked. "You really mean it."

It was not phrased as a question, but Cinderella answered nevertheless. "Yes," she said. "I really mean it."

Belle let out a little gasp of shock. "I would sit opposite, and just one place down from Adam?"

"On the other side of the table, yes," Cinderella confirmed.

A joyous laugh escaped from Prince Adam's lips, and Belle smiled as brightly as the sun outside. "That…" she began, halting after a single word. "That would be wonderful! Thank you!"

"Yes," Adam said. "Thank you so much! You can't have any idea what this means to both of us."

Cinderella didn't contest that point, although she had imagined – more than once – the consequences if the Duke of Cherbourg had had his way and she had been reduced to just Cinderella, her royal tiara stripped away from her: condemned to watch Eugene from afar, to strain her ears to catch the slightest echo of his words, to stand in the corner of the ballroom while he danced with other women, to bring children into the world who would be seen as little better than illegitimate.

Perhaps Cinderella could not imagine what this meant for Adam, and especially for Belle…but she could imagine enough, and know enough, to know without a doubt that she was doing the right thing.

Belle looked, absurdly, a little guilty. "I feel as though we owe you an apology," she said. "We were a little suspicious of you, and now it seems so rude, but I hope you can understand: you really aren't like most people of your position that I've met since I married Adam."

Cinderella held up one hand. "Please, there's no need to apologise, no need at all." She smiled sadly. "I may be a princess, but believe me I've had no shortage of people look down on me for where I came from; I completely understand that you thought I would do the same. You weren't rude, I was too forward, rushing in expecting that we could be friends immediately as though you wouldn't wonder why." She let out a little, slightly melancholy laugh. "As a matter of fact, I might even prefer that you were honest about the way you felt at first; a lot of people have been very nice to me from the very moment I met them…and a lot of those people have turned out not to have my best interests at heart." Lucien Gerard had been so warm and charming when she first met him, Cinderella had felt as though he was a friend that she could always rely on…but that had only been a ruse to get money and favours out of her; his true face had been the one that persecuted Cinderella night and day with declarations of love until eventually he tried to take her love by force. Serena and Grace had been the only two ladies in the court to offer her friendship from the first, but both of them had been her enemies, vipers who wanted her to hold them to her bosom before they bit her. Compared to that, perhaps there was something to be said for the honest suspicion of Belle and Adam, especially since it could hardly be said to be unwarranted in their circumstances. Her smile brightened. "But all of that is behind us now, and I do hope that we can go forwards to something better."

Belle smiled back at her. "I trust you, although I still don't really understand why you're taking so much trouble. What does a princess need with friends like…well…"

"I don't think it's possible to have too many friends," Cinderella said. _Especially when I had so few growing up._ "And besides, I would hate for any guests of ours to be unhappy here, and I really do want this congress to proceed and proceed successfully."

"In that case, you may be wasting your time with us," Adam said, with a touch of regret in his voice. "Queen Maria Theresa will not be persuaded of your good intentions by the fact that you were kind and considerate to Belle."

"No, I suppose not," Cinderella allowed. "But if you write to her and tell her that we will be completely fair in our dealings…that's what she's worried about, isn't it?"

"She's worried that this is a cover for a plot to take away the spoils of her victories," Adam murmured.

"There is no plot," Cinderella insisted. "Our only desire is to see this dreadful war over."

The war between the Holy Roman Empire and the Kingdom of Aquitaine had been going on since before Cinderella and Eugene were married as the two battled over an inheritance in eastern France; before he had come to know her better, Etienne Gerard had sought to show her up by demonstrating her ignorance of it before Eugene, but though she was better informed now as to the causes and the course of the struggle Cinderella had not wavered in her belief that peace was for the best, and whatever part she could play in achieving that peace she would do so to the best of her ability.

"Really?" Belle murmured, with a touch of archness in her tone. "I…I think I believe you, but all of you? The Queen believes that you want the glory that will come from hosting all the crowns of Europe and arbitrating their disputes, and I can believe that, too."

"I don't care about that," Cinderella said. "Perhaps His Majesty does, I haven't asked him; perhaps the King's ministers care about such things, but I don't. This is not our war, but all I can do is remember how we went to war two years ago against some of our American colonists; my husband, Prince Eugene, went across the sea to lead our forces." And with him had gone Etienne Gerard, who had asked Cinderella's dressmaker Lucrecia to marry him not long before; it was only blind luck or his position as Cinderella's guard that meant that Jean had not been called upon to board a ship and put Angelique through the same agony that had engulfed Cinderella and Lucrecia. Augustina's father and one of her brothers had gone to war, and the beau of Constance, one of Cinderella's chamber-maids. There was scarcely anyone in the palace who didn't have at least a friend going off to fight in the American war, and many had a father or brother or a lover; the boy who had asked to marry them, the boy they hoped would ask, the boy the kissed in empty corridors where there was nobody to see. And they had all gone off to war, boarding the great ships with horses and guns, and left their families and their beaus desperate and distraught; the high and low alike of Armorique united in their prayers for the boys far from home.

"I remember," Cinderella said. "How I spent every day worrying about Eugene, always at the back of my day. I wrote him a letter every day, even though most of them were thoroughly boring, because I missed him so much and when he wrote to me…it was like sunlight coming through the clouds. I think that's how so many families across Armorique felt, and when I think about how many families across all of Europe must be feeling the same way right now…I want to help bring their boys back home, if I can."

Belle stared into Cinderella's eyes as she leaned forwards. "The things that you say…I'm not sure that I'd believe them from everyone, but I believe you. They're the reason I was so glad that Adam didn't send any men to join the Empire's war."

"They're the reason I didn't send any men, although please don't mention that outside of this room," Adam said. He sighed. "The truth is that we could have spared some men from the harvest, not many but a few…men my age, with wives Belle's age. It would have been selfish of me to have sent them away from their wives and not gone myself and…" he reached across, and ran one hand through Belle's soft brown hair, a gesture that made her close her eyes and smile contentedly. "I couldn't bring myself to go."

"I should hope not," Belle said sharply, opening her eyes once more. "Two nights of violence in our lives was quite enough, don't you think?"

"Then we're all agreed?" Cinderella asked. "This war should end."

"It should," Adam agreed. "But, you have to understand, that we cannot simply write to Queen Maria Theresa immediately and tell her that all is well; she'll suspect that we haven't been as diligent as she would like, and even if she comes and doesn't like what she finds…I must serve her well, for Belle's sake."

Belle pursed her lips together slightly, but said nothing.

Cinderella smiled. "Well then," she said brightly. "In that case, I shall just have to convince you, shan't I? And through you the queen."

Belle nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. "I hope," she began. "No, I think, that you will do just that."

* * *

 _Author's Note: Fair warning, the next chapter will be in some part a perspective flip of this one, as I think that the first meeting of our two heroines is important enough to get both their opinions on how it went and what they thought of one another (plus, what Belle was expecting Cinderella to be like beforehand)._

 _I personally think that Cinderella is prettier than Belle, but based on my quick study of 'prettiest/most beautiful Disney Princess' rankings and polls I'm very much a minority opinion on that._


	9. When Belle met Cinderella

When Belle met Cinderella

Despite the fact that it was her and Adam's first day in Armorique, Belle had enjoyed a slothfully relaxed morning. A little tired by the journey that they had endured to get here, she and her husband had both risen late, and had breakfast in bed (there were a few crumbs of toast on the quilt) before either of them even thought of getting ready. They had both bathed, but it was close to half-past ten and Belle was still sitting in her smallclothes, while Adam had on a pair of britches and an undershirt that he hadn't bothered to lace up, revealing his hairy and muscular chest to Belle's admiring gaze whenever she glanced up from the array of newspapers that she was reading to take it in, that sight almost as delicious as the breakfast.

"I suppose that we should really think about doing something," Belle murmured, as she turned over the page of a paper called the _Breton Gazette_.

Adam's laugh was a rumble in his throat. "There's something that I would like to do."

Belle looked at him, see that she had climbed onto the bed on his belly and was looking up at her with hungry eyes.

She stared at him for a moment before she broke out in a snort of laughter. "Is that so? And what did we do this morning but exactly that?"

"I have voracious appetites."

"Who knows that better than I do?" Belle asked, with laughter in her voice. "I actually meant that we should probably both think about getting dressed and getting out of this bedroom."

Adam exhaled loudly as he rolled off the bed. "You're probably right, unfortunately. I should go to the palace today and present myself before King Louis as a representative of the Emperor."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Belle asked.

Adam hesitated. "I don't know. Do you want to come with me?"

It was Belle's turn to hesitate. Although Adam had asked her to come with him to Armorique so that she could be a part of these events, and not simply so that she could haunt their rented house like some kind of ghost or the insane first wife whom he kept locked up in the attic, she was not altogether sure that she wanted to start getting involved at this precise moment. A great deal depended on a question that she could not answer: if she did go with Adam to present themselves to the king of Armorique, how would they be received? A private audience she would endure, to be publicly paraded as second rate before the entire court was an experience she would rather miss out.

It didn't help that she had no real idea of what the royal family of Armorique were like. Adam had met Prince Eugene only briefly and he hadn't made much of an impression; from what Belle had discovered from talking to people on their way to the capital it seemed he had a reputation as a great soldier – which made it a little odd to her that he had decided to help preside over a peace conference – but other than that there was little agreement on what he was like as a man, his personality and attitudes. Some people said that he beat his wife, others that he was so deeply in love with her that he gave her everything she asked for without thinking; some said that he was a spoiled brat, others that he was the sort of man who would sleep alongside his men and get lice; some said he was intelligent, others that he was a stupid oaf. Nobody had much to say about his attitudes towards class and morganatic marriages, although Belle supposed that he _had_ married a commoner.

A similar confusion enveloped both Prince Eugene's wife and the king himself. The princess was said to be, like her princely husband, outrageously spoiled by some, but others praised her selflessness to the skies; she was said by some to be intelligent, by others to be foolish; some said she had come to the marriage bed a virgin, others called her a whore (regardless of what the princess was like as a person, though she be the worst snob in Europe and the greatest hypocrite west of the Urals, Belle could not help but feel sympathy for a woman whose romantic life was treated like a fitting subject for all manner of public gossip and speculation, and a little dirty for having read any of it; was this, she couldn't help but wonder, to be her fate if Maria Theresa kept her word and she was elevated to a royal tiara? Would people start to write out acres of innuendo, gossip, conjecture and insult about her in the guise of news? The idea that the princess of Armorique had slept her way through the capital seemed a very fringe attitude now, but to Belle the very idea that people considered it an appropriate thing for them to have opinions on was bad enough). The king himself was either benevolent or tyrant depending on who you asked, with no middle ground in between. It was impossible to know who to believe, who to trust, or what to think.

 _I suppose I shall just have to think for myself, and trust in my judgements as and when I have the chance to make them._ The prospect did not unduly frighten Belle; she had been thinking for herself ever since she was very young, and the idea of coming to her own opinions without the smothering guidance of community opinion did not unduly frighten her. Nevertheless, all of this was to beat around the question that would allow her to answer the question that Adam had just put to her: how would she be received before the King of Armorique, and ought she to go with him?

The other question, of course, was what would she do if she did not go? Belle had thought of going to the library, to see if there was anything there that she hadn't read or didn't have at home (Armorique was the home of the Breton Lay, the poems of love and chivalry that had resounded throughout the middle ages, and Belle – who found that if you took the time to comprehend the sometimes archaic language then the tales told within could be truly magical - was hopeful that the heart of Armorique would be home to some of the more obscure collections of those marvellous tales could be found here which had not made their way eastward to the Franche-Comte), and then there was a need for somebody – and it was probably her role as the mistress of the house – had to sort out the fact that this 'fully-furnished home' that they had rented was anything but.

But as they would be in Armorique for some time, Belle would have plenty of days when she could haunt the library without having to sacrifice any other appointment in order to go there, and as for the furniture situation, well…she could leave that in the capable hands of Lumiere, or she could simply admit to herself that even the idea of doing anything about a situation that, while not ideal, was far from catastrophic, would simply be an excuse to get out of accompanying Adam to the palace.

She had come to Armorique to be a part of Adam's life. It was a little early to start backing out of that now.

Whatever their reception in this land was going to be like, whatever would come next, they would face it together, side by side.

"I will come with you," Belle said. "What are you going to wear?"

Adam shrugged. "Whatever has the least amount of creases in it from the journey, I suppose. And you?"

Belle thought about it for a moment, before a smile creased her features. "Probably the same, honestly." It wasn't as though she had any truly unsuitable outfits – it wasn't as though she'd brought her blue blouse with her or anything like that – and beyond that she wasn't particularly fussed. It wasn't that Belle didn't enjoy dressing up on occasion: she still felt a frisson of excitement every time she put on her gold ballgown; it made her feel beautiful and special and…and, honestly, like the princess that she lawfully was not as nothing else in her wardrobe did, to the extent that for her second wedding – the private wedding, with only their friends and family in attendance, the one that Belle considered in her heart to be her 'true' wedding – she had worn that golden gown rather than the white dress she had worn to her official wedding that had been so spoiled by snobbery and Imperial protocol.

No, it wasn't that Belle didn't enjoy dressing up every now and then, but she didn't want to wear her gold gown everywhere she went, or even wear something in that style every day either. For the most part she prepared to dress more simply and a little more practically than that, and she wasn't going to change that in some attempt – that might well prove in vain anyway – to impress strangers. She hadn't changed herself to please the denizens of her village, she hadn't changed herself to please Adam when he hadn't deserved to be pleased, and she wasn't going to change herself to please anybody. They could take her as she was, and like it or not just as they pleased.

There was a knock on the door, rapid and a little frantic-sounding. "Master? Madame? May I come in?" Babette asked.

Belle and Adam exchanged a silent glance of confusion. Babette didn't often sound flustered or alarmed like this, and since she couldn't hear a mob of angry villagers outside trying to break down the door Belle was at something of a loss to explain it.

"Come in, Babette, we're both reasonably decent," Adam said.

Babette flung open the door and came in, curtsying quickly to both Belle and Adam. "Master, the Princess of Armorique is here!"

Adam's eyebrows rose so high they were at risk of disappearing under his hair. "The princess? Babette, are you certain?"

Babette nodded. "Her guard announced her very clearly."

Adam looked at Belle. Belle glanced at the clock on the wall. It _had_ gone half-past ten, she supposed it wasn't too much for the princess to think that they would be up and about by now. They ought to have been up and about by now, truth be told. Ought to be and yet were not. She was still in her underwear, and Adam was in no state to receive a princess.

"Where is she now?" Adam asked.

"Lumiere is showing her into the parlour," Babette said. "What shall we do, master?"

"Offer her some tea and tell her we'll be right down," Adam said. "If we're not down in thirty minutes offer her some cake."

Babette nodded. "And then?"

"Sing her a song, it will make the time pass in moments," Belle said.

Adam and Babette both looked at her as though they weren't sure if she was being serious or joking at a not altogether appropriate time.

As it was a little of both, Belle both smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "I can attest that it works," she said.

Babette stifled a giggle with one hand. "Very good, madame. We shall do our best until you arrive." She curtsied again, and then made her exit.

Belle got to her feet. "Whatever has the least creases?"

"I don't see that we have too much choice," Adam said. "It's not as if we've had any laundry done."

Belle helped Adam to dress – it turned out that the thing in his wardrobe with the least creases on it was his blue jacket, and the gold waistcoat and britches – before, once she had tied his long, golden hair back, she turned around and allowed him to help her into a day dress of light pink, which it turned out was the most suitable thing that she had that had survived the rigours of the journey unruffled and without any noticeable folds in it.

As Adam helped her to dress, Belle couldn't help but feel a little bit irked by this intrusion. Yes, it did feel like an intrusion; couldn't she have waited until they had called at the palace without forcing her way into their home – temporary or otherwise – as if they hadn't been the victim of enough of that with Maria Theresa and her sisters. Belle dismissed visions of being shoved around – literally – here as well by a woman who pawed all over her husband, by telling herself that, whatever else she was or might be, a woman who had been accused of adultery as often and with so much vitriol as the princess of Armorique would surely be sensible of the need for discretion even if the rumours were true.

All the same, her presence irked Belle; this was their home, for the duration of their stay. It was rented, it wasn't as well furnished as they had wanted or expected but it was their home and this princess had just turned up at the door as though she had a right to just turn up whenever she liked.

It reminded her far too much of the Austrian archduchesses for her to feel entirely pleased at this visit.

Still, it could not be helped nor avoided now; the two of them finished dressing before Babette or Lumiere had to start singing, and descended down from the bedroom to the parlour where Armorique's princess sipped tea as she waited for them.

"I apologise if we've kept you waiting, highness," Adam declared with impeccable courtesy as he and Belle made their way, side by side and arm in arm, into the parlour, moving with a slow caution that – with good fortune – the princess would mistake for stately elegance.

The princess started, looking up at them with surprise in her eyes as she quickly put down the cup and scrambled to her feet. "Not at all, your highness, I realise now that I perhaps shouldn't have called upon you without sending some word in advance; but I was simply so anxious to meet you both that I just couldn't help myself." She walked around the table and towards them, extending to Adam a hand – her right hand, on which glittered an engagement ring so fabulous that the diamond alone would have put that which grace Belle's ring to shame even without the pair of sapphires which accompanied it; it was enough to make her a little jealous – enfolded in a white silk glove. "My name is Cinderella, well, Princess Cinderella of Armorique but I don't think there's any need to be that formal. You must be Prince Adam, of the Franche-Comte, I presume?"

 _Cinderella? An unusual name…but quite a pretty one all the same._

Adam took Cinderella's hand gently; Adam did many things gently, it came from having once possessed incredible strength and from still being a strong man. He took Cinderella's hand but did not kiss it, he merely lowered his mouth until it was near to, but not touching, her knuckles.

"Enchanted, your highness," he replied, and from the tone of his voice Belle could tell that he was as suspicious of this visit as she was, and possibly – they hadn't discussed Belle's feeling of mild irritation, she had kept it to herself – just as irked by it as well. With his free hand, Adam gestured towards Belle. "Allow me to introduce my wife, Belle."

Now they came to it. Now they would see what kind of woman Princess Cinderella was, whether she was nothing but another Maria (albeit with a more unusual name) or whether she might, just possibly, be something else.

Belle had the distinct impression that the princess was sizing her up, which was all fair enough because she was sizing up Princess Cinderella at the same time, and Belle's first impression was…

To be perfectly honest her first impression was that Princess Cinderella was a beauty to put many of the celebrated _belle dames_ of legend in the shade. Words of the English writer Marlowe rose unbidden to the forefront of Belle's mind: was this the fact that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?

No, obviously not, she was much too young to have been around then, but Cinderella had the sort of face and figure that probably could have launched a thousand ships if so many had been required; the sort of face which, combined with the immense esteem in which she was held by many of those that Belle had met travelling up Armorique, would lead a host of swords to leap from their scabbards to avenge any hurt or insult that might be done or offered to her.

 _We may have to tread carefully,_ Belle thought, with a little wry amusement.

Cinderella was, without doubt, beautiful. She had sparkling blue eyes and soft, strawberry blonde hair that looked so thick that Belle almost wanted to run her fingers through it; she was a little shorter than Belle, but only a little (although Belle wasn't wearing heels while she would have been willing to bet that Cinderella was) and she had a figure that managed to walk the fine line between being petite while avoiding being outright skinny like Belle sometimes felt.

Belle had been called beautiful many times herself, she had been named for her beauty, she had been desired for it, pursued by an odious man who wanted to possess her beauty for his own. But Belle had the distinct impression as she looked into those beguiling blue eyes that if Gaston had ever set eyes on Cinderella then she – Belle – wouldn't have had anything to worry about.

Gaston. Thinking about him reminded Belle – as if she needed it – that outer beauty was not a guarantee of inner virtue. Cinderella was beautiful, so very beautiful, but it was also plain to see that, however humble her origins might have been, she was well used by now to being pampered to perfection each and every day. It was clear from the make-up on her face, the blush on her cheeks, the shadow over her eyes, the pearls around her neck and wrist and arm, the extravagant ring upon her finger, the radiant dress she wore. She was practically wearing a ballgown, in the morning, to pay a house call.

If she wasn't doing it to flaunt herself and her position over Belle, then Belle struggled to see how Cinderella could be in any way a serious person dressed like that.

Nevertheless, Cinderella was undoubtedly very beautiful, and even more beautiful when she bestowed on Belle a smile as radiant as the sun. "Good morning, Belle; it's so good to meet you."

 _Is it? Is it really? Why should you care one way or the other about meeting me?_ Was she joking? Was Belle being mocked? She couldn't see how, but at the same time she couldn't see why the princess of a large and prosperous kingdom would want to meet her. Belle wasn't able to keep the wariness out of her voice as she said, "Likewise, your highness."

"Oh, please, there's no need for that, either of you," Cinderella said. "All of my friends call me Cinderella; or, almost all of them at least. There are one or two I haven't been able to persuade."

Belle's eyebrows rose. She considered herself to be both intelligent and a good judge of character; she was generally able to tell what was genuine concern from a friend from the faux-concern used by those who wished to drive home the very problem they claimed to be concerned about; she was able to tell the difference between genuine warmth and empty courtesy, and to tell both from insult wrapped in honey. But with Cinderella she found that this usual gift that had served her so well was threatening to desert her because she just didn't understand it. Cinderella wasn't being insulting – Maria Theresa would never have invited Belle to call her Maria Theresa as a way of putting her down – but equally it made no sense for her to earnestly breeze in here and act as though they were friends when there was no reason to suppose they even could be. Had Belle missed something somewhere?

All she could think to ask, lest she stare silently for so long that she looked like an idiot, was, "And are we friends?"

Cinderella blinked. "Well…perhaps not yet," she admitted. "But I certainly hope that we can be, and I think that would be easiest if we didn't have titles standing between us."

It occurred to Belle that perhaps she had judged Cinderella too harshly; but on the other hand, if she had spoken the truth then she had other friends and sufficiently close that they were comfortable addressing her by name rather than by royal style. So why would she need or desire Belle's friendship? That was the missing piece, the thing that Belle did not or could not grasp. Cinderella spoke of the two of them being friends but there was no reason why she should want that; it wasn't as if people in this world simply made friends for the joy of it, after all.

Cinderella must have seen something of what Belle was thinking in her face, because her blue eyes became downcast with disappointment. "I'm sorry," she said. "Please forgive me, I…I've never done anything quite like this before; I mean with foreign dignitaries such as yourself, and I was so keen for this to go well. Perhaps we could sit down, or…" Despite the suggestion, Cinderella did not sit down. Instead she coughed into one hand as if she had a need to clear her throat, or perhaps she just wanted to signal that what was past was past and ought not to be brought up again. "Ahem. Prince Adam, Belle, on behalf of His Majesty, of my husband Prince Eugene, and of myself I bid you welcome to Armorique," as she spoke, Cinderella spread her arms out on either side of her. "And hope that your stay here will be both pleasant and profitable."

Belle stared for a moment. _Was that rehearsed? It sounded a little rehearsed_. She couldn't help but smile a little as she asked. "Did you prepare that, by any chance?"

Cinderella hesitated for a moment. "Yes," she said. "I may even have practiced once or twice in front of the mirror. I really do mean it, though; please believe me. I…I'm your hostess here, and I really do want your stay to be the best that I can make it. If you need anything from me please, don't hesitate to call upon my help, day or night, except for when I'm with my children; that time is precious to me, I hope you understand."

"I do," Belle said, and the wariness left her voice now because this, this at least, she understood. She might not have been blessed with any children of her own but she had been a daughter to a very loving mother and could still well remember what that had been like. "My mother used to tell me that our time together was sacrosanct; even when I was too young to understand what that word meant I understood that there was something special in those hours."

Just as much to the point, though she didn't mention it, although Belle had no children of her own – and that absence from her life was not by choice of either Adam or herself – she could imagine what it would or might be like to have a child or children, and she knew that if she where in that position, in Cinderella's position, then she wouldn't want anything or anyone to drag her away from the time she spent with them.

"For myself, my father was never not too busy to spend time with me…and I can't help but wonder if that's one of the reasons why…never mind," Adam said, sounding a little melancholy but also sounding as though he could laugh at it now, a little, having passed through the trials of his earlier life to become a better man at the end of it all. "You may be certain, high- Cinderella, that I completely respect the sanctity of those hours."

"We both do," Belle said. "We may be your guests but we have no claim upon your whole life, body and soul." She hesitated, wondering whether Cinderella would consider her question to be prying or not. "May I ask how many children you have?"

"Three," Cinderella said, smiling. "A stepson and two daughters."

Belle frowned a little. "A stepson, but then you only have-"

"Three," Cinderella said, in a tone that made it clear that the subject was not up for extended discussion. "I may not have brought Philippe into this world but he is still my child, and I am the only mother he has."

"I see," Belle said. "I'm sorry if I upset you."

"No, please, don't apologise. And you? Do you have any children of your own?"

Belle found that she couldn't meet Cinderella's eyes, she had to look away,d own at the floor beneath her. "No. I'm afraid we haven't been blessed."

It certainly wasn't for lack of trying on their part, but despite that after three years of marriage they remained resolutely without children. Adam didn't complain about it, and Belle wished that she could tell him grateful she was to him for that (if only she could have thought of a way to tell him without bringing the subject up), and since the Franche-Comte had neither a full and formal court such as was found in Armorique and since Belle's children would never have been in line to inherit Adam's lands and titles they were, at least, spared a lot busybodies whispering about her barrenness and whether it wouldn't be better for Adam to put her aside in favour of someone more fertile.

But all the same, Belle felt the lack. It wasn't that she was unhappy, but…she felt as though there was more happiness lurking just beyond her reach that she was unable to grasp.

She did sometimes wonder, and looking at Cinderella and her slightly fuller figure now just brought it to the surface, whether the problem lay with her, that she was simply too thin to conceive a child.

"Oh," Cinderella said. "I am sorry, and sorry to have brought it up."

She sounded upset to have caused Belle any upset. Did she mean that? Did Belle's reaction truly trouble her? Belle was beginning to wonder if her first impressions, her irritation and suspicion, had been completely misplaced all this time. So far Cinderella had shown not an ounce of hostility, thrown not a single barb or snide remark their way, she had barely looked at Adam and kept most of her focus on Belle herself.

She had been the soul of friendliness thus far, and Belle was forced to conclude and concede that all of the hostility demonstrated up until this point had come from Adam and Belle, driven by fears that seemed to be proven more and more unjustified with every passing moment.

Belle began to wonder if perhaps they should be glad that Cinderella hadn't appeared to take offence at anything.

"Don't worry, its fine," she said quickly, hoping to get off the subject and onto less uncomfortable ground. "After all, there's still plenty of time."

"Perhaps we should sit down," Adam said, sensing Belle's discomfort with the top. "And try some of the tea before it gets cold."

They all said, and Belle poured tea for Adam and herself before refilling Cinderella's cup. As she added a couple of sugar-lumps to her own cup, Belle took the moment to gather her thoughts away from the children that she did not have and back towards their surprising visitor. Was it really possible that she had only come here to say to hello? Adam might be a prince and an Imperial envoy, but he was prince of a land that ranked far below Armorique in power and importance while Belle was not even that, she was only herself which, as she was often reminded by the Marias of this world, was of little consequence in the grand scheme of things. "Pri- Cinderella," she caught herself just in time, and smiled at the mistake she had almost made. There was something about Cinderella that made her want to smile, to match the princess' affability by being affable herself. There was something about her that suggested that, perhaps, they could even be friends; and that was not something that she had thought about any princess, queen or arch-duchess she had met up to this point. "Did you really come all this way just to welcome us to your country?"

Cinderella covered her mouth with one hand to hide a chuckle. "It really isn't all that far from the palace, I assure you."

"Some princesses would have found it too far anyway," Belle couldn't resist remarking, and only just managed to resist naming names.

Cinderella pursed her lips together. "I…I know that I can't really imagine what your life has been like, Belle…but I was just a servant when Prince Eugene asked me to be his wife, and only last year his cousin tried to have our marriage rendered morganatic because someone of my background wasn't fit to be the princess of this country. He didn't succeed, but…I know that this might sound like bragging or vanity but I hope I'm not like other princesses that you've met. I…I don't intend to treat you as anything less than myself for as long as you're here. That's another reason why I came here this morning: on behalf of the King, Prince Eugene and myself I would like to invite you both personally to a banquet and a ball to be held in your honour, to celebrate your arrival in Armorique; and at this banquet, Belle, I would be honoured if you would sit across the table from me."

If Belle looked as shocked as she felt at the moment then she must have looked as though she'd just been whacked over the head with a tree branch. She was to sit next to her? At the head of the table with the princes and princesses? That was…to say that that was unexpected was an understatement; it was something that Belle would never have even contemplated being asked, something that she had never considered that Cinderella might suggest. When Cinderella had brought up the banquet it had been all that Belle could do not to roll her eyes and contemplate another night surrounded by the low-ranking snobs who would put her down as a way of assuaging their insecurities but this…this was almost unbelievable. "You…you want me to sit next to you?"

"Yes," Cinderella said. "I would have had you sitting next to Prince Adam, but I'm afraid his majesty wouldn't allow me to go quite that far."

"At the head of the table?" Adam asked. His voice rose a little as he demanded, "Is this a joke?"

Belle frowned at that. She could understand why Adam might think that of some people, but from Cinderella? Although they hadn't know each other for very long at all it was becoming inconceivable to her that Armorique's princess would behave that way, to them or to anybody else.

 _We misjudged her, Adam, and thoroughly too. We let our past experiences get the better of us._

 _What we have here…what we have here is kindness, nothing more and nothing less._

"No!" Cinderella cried. "Do you think that this is a trick of some kind, I would never do such a thing?"

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Belle asked, somewhat rhetorically because with every passing moment she was becoming more and more convinced that Cinderella was absolutely sincere; she might even be incapable of deception. It was hard to imagine, almost impossible in some way, but there it was, sitting before them now: a princess who was not only willing but enthusiastic about the idea of treating Belle as something more than dirt upon her court shoes. "You really mean it."

Belle considered that the missing piece, the thing that she had not understood, the reason the instincts she trusted had seemed so confused about Cinderella, was that she had no accounted for the possibility of sincerity or simple kindness. It exhausted her to consider that it might be so, that so many of her dealings with the outside world had been with the two-faced that she had forgotten to consider that there might be good and decent people in the world beyond the castle she called home.

If being here in Armorique restored her faith in her fellow men a little then it might be worth having come here for that alone.

If she could make a friend too then so much the better.

It was not phrased as a question, but Cinderella answered nevertheless. "Yes," she said. "I really mean it."

Belle let out a little gasp of shock that would not be contained as she took in the wonderful reality of what Cinderella was holding in front of her. "I would sit opposite, and just one place down from Adam?" She was offering Belle equality, as far as she could grant it, and she was doing so without demanding anything in return as Maria Theresa had done; offering it not as a reward for service but as a right. It was generosity of a kind that Belle had not looked for but, now that she had set her eyes upon it, realised that she had wanted it all along, like a dream that becomes clearer in the mind's eye the closer it comes to being made reality.

"On the other side of the table, yes," Cinderella confirmed.

A joyous laugh escaped from Prince Adam's lips, and Belle smiled brightly too because this gift…was it possible that Cinderella could understand what this meant to them?. "That…" she began, halting after a single word. "That would be wonderful! Thank you!"

"Yes," Adam said. "Thank you so much! You can't have any idea what this means to both of us."

Belle assumed an appropriately guilty aspect for the delivery of the apology that Cinderella so richly deserved. "I feel as though we owe you an apology," she said. "We were a little suspicious of you, and now it seems so rude, but I hope you can understand: you really aren't like most people of your position that I've met since I married Adam."

Cinderella held up one hand to forestall anything further. "Please, there's no need to apologise, no need at all." She smiled, and there was something melancholy about that smile as she continued, "I may be a princess, but believe me I've had no shortage of people look down on me for where I came from; I completely understand that you thought I would do the same. You weren't rude, I was too forward, rushing in expecting that we could be friends immediately as though you wouldn't wonder why." She let out a little, slightly melancholy laugh. "As a matter of fact, I might even prefer that you were honest about the way you felt at first; a lot of people have been very nice to me from the very moment I met them…and a lot of those people have turned out not to have my best interests at heart." Her smile brightened. "But all of that is behind us now, and I do hope that we can go forwards to something better."

Belle smiled back at her. "I trust you, although I still don't really understand why you're taking so much trouble. What does a princess need with friends like…well…"

"I don't think it's possible to have too many friends," Cinderella said. "And besides, I would hate for any guests of ours to be unhappy here, and I really do want this congress to proceed and proceed successfully."

"In that case, you may be wasting your time with us," Adam said, with a touch of regret in his voice. "Queen Maria Theresa will not be persuaded of your good intentions by the fact that you were kind and considerate to Belle."

"No, I suppose not," Cinderella allowed. "But if you write to her and tell her that we will be completely fair in our dealings…that's what she's worried about, isn't it?"

"She's worried that this is a cover for a plot to take away the spoils of her victories," Adam murmured.

"There is no plot," Cinderella insisted. "Our only desire is to see this dreadful war over."

 _Why?_ While Adam had managed to keep the Franche-Comte from being more than nominally engaged in Empire's war for Burgundy – he had sent money to pay the tithe to upkeep the Imperial Army, but had not sent so much as a company of foot to join that army on any of the fronts in which it was engaged – Armorique was not even that; while some Gallic nations – Toulouse, Flanders, Picardie – had thrown in their lot with Aquitaine against the Empire, Armorique had remained neutral in this war. So why were they now at all anxious to see it end?

"Really?" Belle murmured, and she could not keep the curiosity or, frankly, the doubt that all of Armorique held the same benevolent, almost humanitarian intentions and desires as Cinderella out of her tone. "I…I think I believe you, but all of you? The Queen believes that you want the glory that will come from hosting all the crowns of Europe and arbitrating their disputes, and I can believe that, too."

"I don't care about that," Cinderella said, and Belle found that she could quite believe it. "Perhaps His Majesty does, I haven't asked him; perhaps the King's ministers care about such things, but I don't. This is not our war, but all I can do is remember how we went to war two years ago against some of our American colonists; my husband, Prince Eugene, went across the sea to lead our forces.

"I remember how I spent every day worrying about Eugene, always at the back of my day. I wrote him a letter every day; even though most of them were thoroughly boring, because I missed him so much and when he wrote to me…it was like sunlight coming through the clouds. I think that's how so many families across Armorique felt, and when I think about how many families across all of Europe must be feeling the same way right now…I want to help bring their boys back home, if I can."

Belle stared into Cinderella's eyes as she leaned forwards. _I can't believe it, this morning I expected to meet a vain, spoiled brat but now you're making me feel ashamed of myself, not just for having misjudged you either._ Rather Belle felt ashamed for having focussed so heavily on what she and Adam might get from this experience, or how they might suffer from the court of Armorique; Cinderella, on the other hand, had not forgotten that there were great issues at stake here, and that if they did not find a way to make the temporary truce that had fallen across France hold fast then men would soon return to bleeding and dying and leaving wailing widows and orphans behind to fend for themselves. "The things that you say…I'm not sure that I'd believe them from everyone, but I believe you. They're the reason I was so glad that Adam didn't send any men to join the Empire's war."

"They're the reason I didn't send any men, although please don't mention that outside of this room," Adam said. He sighed. "The truth is that we could have spared some men from the harvest, not many but a few…men my age, with wives Belle's age. It would have been selfish of me to have sent them away from their wives and not gone myself and…" he reached across, and ran one hand through Belle's soft brown hair, a gesture that made her close her eyes and smile contentedly. "I couldn't bring myself to go."

"I should hope not," Belle said sharply, opening her eyes once more. "Two nights of violence in our lives was quite enough, don't you think?" She had almost lost Adam on both those occasions, to the fangs of the wolves and the knife of a deranged and violent man; she still had nightmares about those nights, and not only about her own death but about losing Adam too. If he were to go away to war then she wasn't sure if she would be able to bear it.

"Then we're all agreed?" Cinderella asked. "This war should end."

"It should," Adam agreed. "But, you have to understand, that we cannot simply write to Queen Maria Theresa immediately and tell her that all is well; she'll suspect that we haven't been as diligent as she would like, and even if she comes and doesn't like what she finds…I must serve her well, for Belle's sake."

Belle pursed her lips together slightly, but said nothing. She was beginning to wonder if it was horribly morally myopic of them to pursue their own interests in a situation like this. Surely they should devote all their efforts towards the greater good?

But, on the other hand, she so wanted to be treated as Adam's equal. She didn't want to spend her whole life at the bottom end of the table, only allowed to the head thanks to the kindness of Cinderella.

If they could have both, then was it wrong of them to strive for that?

Judging by her smile Cinderella didn't seem to think so. "Well then," she said brightly. "In that case, I shall just have to convince you, shan't I? And through you the queen."

Belle nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. "I hope," she began. "No, I think, that you will do just that."

And the strangest thing, considering how she had felt this very morning, was thata she meant it.


	10. Until Tonight

Until Tonight

The coachman and the footman started to play cards while the princess was in the house. Jean wasn't surprised by the fact that they didn't invite him to join them: while once he had been the kind of riff-raff they would have chased off with a clip round the ear, now he was a lord and an officer, and in neither capacity was he the sort of person that the coachman and the footman would ask to play cards with them.

Not that he would have joined in even if they had asked. His mother, God rest her soul, hadn't approved of gambling and Angelique probably wouldn't like it if he took up the hobby either. He knew from Angelique that amongst the princess' attendants Mademoiselle Augustina and Lady Christine both played for money, but the princess herself never joined them when there were financial stakes involved and neither did Angelique or Lady Marinette; leaving aside the fact that her highness, considerate as she was, probably recoiled from the idea of taking money from her ladies when she was already rich enough to purchase anything that could be bought and which she might conceivably desire, Jean thought that it was probably not a coincidence that the two who gambled for money were the two who, without intending any offence to them, had never been in a position where there was simply no money left.

None of them were in that position now; thanks to the princess' generosity Jean, Angelique and Lady Marinette were all titled aristocrats with lands and incomes from the same; he had the money to gamble if he wished…but he wouldn't have for long if he gambled it all away. That way lay raiding the princess' jewellery box for things to pawn to pay off your creditors.

So, as Jean waited for the princess to finish her visit with the prince of the Franche-Comte and his wife, he ignored the card game going on on the front seat of the coach and focussed instead on the scruffy-looking officer idling by the side of the house. The fellow had been there when the princess arrived and, having watched her go in, he showed no intention of going anywhere. He just stood there, watching, while the even scruffier dressed girl behind him lingered too.

It was beginning to make him a little suspicious, in all honesty.

He walked over, his boots thudding a little on the cobbled stones that lined the street beside the townhouse. "Can I help you, sir?"

The fellow wiped at his beard with one hand. "I doubt it," he said gruffly.

 _Then what do you want and what are you doing out here?_ Jean thought. He didn't consider himself to be a suspicious person – Angelique certainly didn't think so – but something about this man…Jean wished he'd make himself scarce. Nevertheless, he held out one hand. "Lieutenant Jean Taurillion, Second Battalion of the Foot Guards."

The other man did not offer his own hand in return, he had a look on his face that was both amused and superior as he said, "You can call me Avenant. That was your princess who just disappeared inside there, wasn't it?"

"It was," Jean said.

Avenant nodded. "Pretty little thing, isn't she?"

"She's the princess of this country, show some respect," Jean snapped, because he was starting to suspect that this man was not exactly a gentleman.

The woman standing behind 'Avenant' rolled her eyes. Avenant simply looked even more amused.

"Well, if she doesn't want people to think that she's a pretty girl then why does she dress like that?"

"Her highness dresses in a way that pleases her," Jean said coldly. "I doubt she cares for the opinion of the likes of you one way or another."

"The likes of me?" Avenant still sounded amused, but now he also sounded a little offended too. He was bigger than Jean, and his shadow loomed over Jean's face as he stepped closer to him. "And what do you mean by the likes of me, boy?"

"An insolent ruffian with no manners, no decency, and not even enough self-respect to wash his coat no matter how badly it needs it," Jean said.

Avenant scowled. "You-"

"Alright, that's enough of that," the woman said, grabbing Avenant by the ear and pulling him away. "You deserved that for the way you've carried on this whole trip and you know it." She looked at Jean apologetically. "I'm sorry about him, he doesn't really mean it he's just…acting out. Pay no attention. Come here, you." She dragged the protesting Avenant away into the stable by the ear, leaving Jean standing alone and feeling rather bemused.

He hoped that the people inside the house were behaving better – and more understandably – towards the princess than the ones outside.

* * *

Once she had dragged him safely round the back of the house where no outsiders could see them, Amelie swept the hat off Avenant's head before she whacked him on top of it. "You're going to have to stop this."

Avenant rubbed the top of his head. "Stop what?"

"This!" Amelie yelled. "Acting like a creepy bell-end on purpose to get a rise out of people. What was the point of that there? Leering over the princess in front of her bodyguard, what do you think Her Majesty would have to say about that? In fact, I'll tell you what Her Majesty would have to say about that: if you called one of her sisters 'pretty little thing' in that voice while practically smacking your lips she'd have your tongue out right there and then. Maybe your eyes as well." She sighed. "What are you doing, Avenant?"

"She was pretty," Avenant said defensively.

"Yes, but you didn't have to say so to her guard, for God's sake," Amelie moaned. "And if you did you didn't have to say it like that. Really, what's going on? Ever since we got this job you've just been…what is it? You didn't used to be like this. Picking a fight with one of the King of Armorique's soldiers?"

"He was the one who came looking for trouble."

"In his position I'd have done the same thing," Amelie said. "And so would you if you were in your right mind instead of…instead of wherever you are now. Avenant, you need to pull yourself together. We've got a job to do and right now…I'm not sure what you're doing but this isn't it. How are we going to serve the Queen or keep an eye on Prince Adam and Belle if you've gotten us thrown out of the country by an irate King who thinks you've got designs on his daughter-in-law? You think Her Majesty would take our side if that happened?" Her Majesty wouldn't like the fact that it happened to two of her agents, but Amelie had no doubt as to where she would place the blame. Queen Maria Theresa was a fair woman, willing to give opportunities to poor folk like her, but she also had very firm ideas about royal blood and crowns and there was no way that she wouldn't judge that they had acted improperly if something like that happened.

If Avenant couldn't pull himself together.

"I don't understand this," she said. "So help me, please."

Avenant didn't reply. He turned away, as though she couldn't possibly understand what he was feeling.

She wanted to hit him again, but what good would that have done? Amelie just sighed, and wondered what she was going to do about him.

And how they were going to get through this.

* * *

"It was so very nice to meet you, Belle," Cinderella said, as Belle walked her to the door.

"Likewise," Belle said, with a smile playing across her face. "It was very, very refreshing to meet…a good princess."

Cinderella chuckled softly as she covered her mouth with one hand. "Please, you're going to make me blush terribly. So I'll see you and Adam tonight for dinner?"

"You certainly will," Belle said. _We shall have to get our clothes laundered, and quickly too._ She couldn't wear this day dress to a banquet and ball. She held out her hands. "Thank you," she said. "I wasn't sure what to expect from this trip, but meeting you…you've made me look forward to the rest of our time here."

Cinderella's smile was so bright and genuine as she took Belle's hands gently in hers, and gave them a squeeze. "That was my only intention," she said. "It was so nice to meet you both; I can't wait for you to meet my husband."

"Neither can I," Belle said, as she opened the door for Cinderella and let the sunlight flood into the hallway, casting Cinderella's white dress in an even more radiant glow than it had possessed in shadow. "Now take care."

"I will," Cinderella said, as she picked up the folds of her gown in both hands and began to descend the stone steps. She turned, and waved to Belle, who waved back as Cinderella climbed into the carriage.

Only when the royal coach began to pull away did Belle close the front door.

Adam emerged from out of the parlour. "That went surprisingly well, didn't it?"

Belle turned away from the door. "Surprising? I'm astonished. Before I met her I never would have been able to conceive of someone like her wearing a crown."

"It's probably a tiara."

Belle raised her eyebrows.

Adam snorted. "I'm sorry. What is it that you couldn't have conceived of? A princess who is a nice person?"

"Unfortunately that is part of it," Belle muttered.

Adam frowned. "You're being a little harsh there."

"Name one princess, queen of arch-duchess whom we had met before Cinderella who treated us with a sliver of kindness or consideration?" Belle asked.

Adam looked…guilty? He wouldn't meet Belle's eyes, but seemed suddenly fascinated by studying the ceiling. "Well, I'll concede that the answer is none that you've met, but there was one, once…I…never mind. Out of your experience, it wouldn't mean anything to you."

Belle frowned. There was more to this, she was certain; it wasn't like Adam to be secretive with her about anything, so why was he behaving like this now? One possible answer that suggested itself to her was that, if he was so open with her about every other aspect and detail of his life then the things that he chose to keep to himself must be very private and very personal, the sort of things that she had no right to pry into. And so she decided that she would not pry, and would leave him the privacy that he felt was necessary; it was, probably, the least that she could do in exchange for the fact that so very little about Adam was private in any sense. She moved on to her other point, "It isn't actually just that Cinderella was – is – kind and decent; it's that she's so transparent about it. There wasn't even an attempt to obfuscate anything about herself. Either she's a much better liar than I've given her credit for or she's wearing her heart on her…she isn't wearing sleeves so I suppose she must be wearing it on her gloves. I…"

"What?" Adam asked.

"Considering some of the people that I've met since I married you I'm a little amazed that she can still be so…as she is," Belle said.

Adam nodded. "Yes, I suppose that I can see what you mean. Still, I'm glad that she has."

"So am I," Belle said. She couldn't entirely dismiss the feeling that she and Adam were being a little selfish in their seeking of advancement for Belle when there was a war going on and a peace in Europe that was barely holding together, but as they were not yet at the stage where they had to choose between what they personally wanted and the good of the world she didn't think it necessary to bring it up.

It wasn't selfish if you could have what you wanted and the greater good, after all. How could it be?

"We should probably choose what we want to wear tonight," Belle said. "And find somebody to get the creases out of it. After all, we haven't that long left until tonight."

* * *

"Did you have a good time, your highness?" Jean asked as he helped Cinderella into the coach.

"Yes, it was lovely," Cinderella said as she sat down and opened up her parasol to shield her from the sun. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"You could have spent far longer there, princess, and no one would have objected."

 _Nobody would have said anything, you mean._ Cinderella had known that already – she wasn't a complete naïf – but she also knew from personal experience that you didn't need to say a thing to feel it. "I spent long enough," she said, waving to Belle as she stood at the door. "And I'll be seeing them both later on tonight anyway."

"Back to the palace, your highness?" the coachman asked.

"No, thank you, I'd like to call on Princess Frederica," Cinderella said.

"Highness?" Jean asked, as the coachman cracked the reins and the horses began to move, pulling the open carriage behind them.

"There's something that I need to speak to her about," Cinderella explained. "I really won't be very long this time, I promise."

"It is nothing to me, princess, nor any of our business," Jean said. "Take as much time as you need."

The coach conveyed Cinderella to the front door of the town house that Princess Frederica Eugenie de la Fontaine of Normandie had rented in the capital of Armorique, which was – as Cinderella had already noted, wondering if there was something about this part of the city – not so very far away from where Adam and Belle had set up their headquarters. The door was opened by Anton, Frederica's loyal retainer, who welcomed her and conveyed her into the sitting room, where Frederica herself joined her a moment later.

"Cinderella," Frederica said as she glided in. The Princess of Normandie wore her soft brown hair in braided curls falling down behind her neck, and she was presently wearing a long-sleeved dress of a green that matched her eyes. She took Cinderella by the arms as she kissed her upon her cheeks. "It's always wonderful to see you, although I thought you might be too busy to drop in on me today, what with preparations for tonight's banquet and the like."

"Well, I'm afraid that I can't stay very long," Cinderella said, with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece that told it had past noon already.

"No tea, then?"

"No, I simply haven't the time," Cinderella said, she thought it was unnecessary to mention that she had just had tea.

"Do you have time to sit?" Frederica asked, gesturing to the green velvet settee nearby.

Cinderella smiled. "Yes, I think so." She and Frederica sat down upon the same settee, facing one another, their legs tucked up on the seat so their knees were almost touching and the white of Cinderella's gown was in places submerged beneath the green of Frederica's skirt.

"I hope I haven't torn you away from anything important by appearing uninvited at your door like this," Cinderella said softly.

"Nothing that I can't return too after a pause," Frederica replied. "I was just writing a letter to my father. It will keep. Don't worry. I should be asking what could be so important that you can tear yourself away from ball and banquet preparations to come and see me."

"Frederica," Cinderella protested. "You make it sound as though I only come to visit you when I want something."

Frederica chuckled as she reached out and clasped Cinderella's hands. "If that's what I seemed to be saying then I'm sorry, we both know that isn't true." With one thumb she pushed Cinderella's engagement ring slightly askew, until one of the flanking sapphires was touching her other finger. "Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I've just come from meeting Prince Adam of the Franche-Comte and his wife, Belle," Cinderella began.

"Ah," Frederica said. "What did you think of them?"

"Do you know them?"

"I wouldn't say that I know them," Frederica replied. "But I attended their wedding. I thought she was rather unhappy?"

"Belle?" Cinderella asked.

"Yes," Frederica said. "She struck me as someone who was trying to convince herself that things weren't as bad as they were."

"It is a terrible situation that she's in," Cinderella said. "I can't imagine what it must be like for her, to be so far from the man she loves."

"Mmm," Frederica murmured. "Our laws pay scant regard for love, and the laws of the Old Empire even less. You were very lucky to escape that fate."

"I know, believe me, I know," Cinderella said. "That is why…" she hesitated, momentarily, for fear of how Frederica might react to this. "I would like to treat Belle as Adam's equal wife, as far as possible, while she's here with us. Which means that at tonight's banquet she'll be seated on Prince Eugene's right…above you."

"Oh!" Frederica cried. "Oho, I see! I am forsaken! Cast out like an old toy, broken and unwanted, now that you have a new friend to favour and to fawn upon!"

Cinderella looked away. "Frederica, it isn't like that. I didn't do this to upset you; I'm sorry, I just-"

"I know," Frederica said, her voice rich with amusement. "But you look so adorable when you get flustered like that."

Cinderella gave her a reproachful look, which didn't appear to faze Frederica in the least.

"So…" Cinderella said after a moment. "It doesn't upset you, that you'll be sat below Belle?"

"No," Frederica said. "Loath as I am to quote my father on any subject, he has a certain saying whenever he is slighted or made little of: Normandie will still be Normandie. As much as I disagree with him on…everything, he has a point there. Belle can sit ahead of me at the dining table but at the end of the day Normandie will still be Normandie and the Franche-Comte will still be the Franche-Comte."

"And you'll still be a princess and Belle will still be a commoner in a morganatic marriage," Cinderella said softly.

"I didn't say that," Frederica said.

"No," Cinderella agreed. "But that doesn't make it any less true, does it?" Put like that it seemed to make a mockery of her efforts: it might make Belle feel better, but it wouldn't really change a thing.

Frederica let go of one of Cinderella's hands, and gently stroked her cheek with the back of her fingers. "The truth of it does not make it any less kind of you to do as you have decided. How did she take it?"

"Very well," Cinderella said. "They were both very pleased."

"Isn't that enough?" Frederica asked. She grinned. "So what did you think of them both?"

"They were both very nice to me," Cinderella said. "Once they realised that I wasn't there to be cruel to them."

"They were suspicious?"

"I think so, yes," Cinderella said. "They must have been badly treated by…someone in my position."

Frederica pursed her lips together. "I find that I can imagine that very easily." For a moment, her fingertips rested upon Cinderella's cheek. Her fingers were cold, and though she didn't say anything Cinderella found that they chilled her face a little. "Be careful," Frederica said.

Cinderella blinked. "Be careful? I don't understand. What should I be careful about?"

Frederica was silent for a moment. "You are the kindest girl that I've ever met. You offer your heart to those you meet without hesitation. And I can understand that you feel sympathy for this girl Belle, in the position that she's in."

"But?" Cinderella asked.

Frederica chuckled. "You are learning, aren't you? The but, yes indeed, the but. But these people did not come here to be your friends but to serve the Empire, to see if Armorique could be an impartial host to a congress to decide the war."

"I know that," Cinderella said. "And I'm determined to do what I can to make it a success."

"That won't happen if you're seen to have gone too far in the other direction; favouring one side is no better than favouring the other," Frederica said. "The host nation must be impartial or how can it play host?"

"Why does impartial have to mean cold?" Cinderella replied. "Why does judging the issues impartially mean that I can't be kind towards everyone involved while they are our guests here?"

"It doesn't, I suppose," Frederica said. "But standing behind Belle and Adam is Maria Theresa of Bavaria, the power behind the Imperial throne; if this congress of nations goes ahead as planned, if she comes…you must be on your guard to her. If you offer her your heart with a lovely smile as you so often do…" Frederica ran her fingers through Cinderella's hair, brushing against the white rose woven into her strawberry blonde locks. "I'm worried that she'll eat you alive."

"People have been trying to eat me alive from the moment Eugene put this ring on my finger," Cinderella said softly.

"True," Frederica admitted. "But Maria Theresa is different. More ruthless than Serena, more intelligent than Grace; capable of greater cruelty than the Duke when convinced of the rightness of her cause." She scowled. "Eleanor of Aquitaine is just as bad in her own way. I wonder if your father-in-law understands what a pair of vipers he will be playing host to at this congress, and to what extent they will be willing to tear Armorique apart in order to triumph over the other."

"You know them?" Cinderella asked.

"Maria Theresa I know mainly by reputation, although our paths have crossed once," Frederica said. "Eleanor I thought I knew very well…until she proved by her actions that I had never really known her at all."

Cinderella leaned forward. "What happened?"

"I…I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind," Frederica said. "One doesn't like to dwell on one's most egregious failures, after all."

Cinderella didn't press the point. She knew perfectly well what Frederica was talking about, she too had things that she would rather not discuss, memories that she would rather not share. "I understand that you're trying to protect me, but I don't like the idea of being hostile to people who have given me no cause for it. Belle and Adam-"

"I'm not talking about Belle and Adam, if you can befriend them and you wish to do so then so be it," Frederica said. She clasped Cinderella's hands so tightly it was almost painful. "But Maria Theresa – Eleanor too, when or if she comes – you must be wary of them, warier than you are of strangers in your life. Please, Cinderella, trust me when I say that they have no interest in friendship, no compassion for love, no mercy for kindness. They will not spare you because you are a mother, because you have done them no wrong, not even because you are the sweetest girl who ever drew breath. You must be on your guard because…because by the time they give you open cause for wariness they will have destroyed you. Please, Cinderella, promise me that you will take care. Domestic politics and the court have forgiven a few errors, but international statecraft will not, not with such serpents as these. Please be careful."

Cinderella stared into Frederica's green eyes. She had never seen such concern in them before, it was honestly a little worrying. "I…I don't understand why you're so worried, or rather I don't know these people…but I suppose you do, and I suppose that I should trust what you say about them. I may not like to be suspicious of people without giving them a chance, but…but you have been such a good friend to me, and I trust you, with my life. So if you say that there is something to worry then I will worry when the time comes." She didn't like it, and it went against her instincts and her nature, but Frederica had never lied to her nor steered her wrong, so Cinderella would not ignore her now.

"Thank you," Frederica said, as she leaned forward to kiss Cinderella on the forehead. "I…I don't think I could bear it if any harm came to you, you…you are my hope."

Cinderella was silent for a moment, looking into Frederica's eyes. "I'm sorry, I…I wish I knew what I could say to that."

Frederica smiled, and let out a sort of chuckle. "You don't need to say anything," she said, as she embraced Cinderella by the arms and squeezed. "You just need to live. Live, and be happy."

Cinderella smiled. "I…I'm afraid I should probably be going."

"Of course," Frederica said, as they both got off the settee and rose to their feet. She gave Cinderella a tight hug, holding her close for a moment before she let her go. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Yes, of course."

"To be sat beneath your new friend Belle."

"Frederica-"

"I know, I know," Frederica assured her with a smile. "Goodbye, until tonight."

"Yes," Cinderella said. "Until tonight."

* * *

"Sisters!" Ruby cried. "Put on your prettiest frocks!"

Lucinda and Martha looked at her as though she were a little odder than usual.

"Why?" Lucinda asked, as though the idea were absolutely absurd.

"Because tonight the King of Armorique throws a grand ball and banquet to welcome Prince Adam and his little tart into their kingdom," Ruby said. She smiled. "And it would never do for us to look less than our best when claiming the debt that we are owed, would it?"

"Ooh!" Martha cried. "And shall we have our revenge at the same time?"

"That depends," Ruby said. "On whether the opportunity presents itself. We don't wish to reveal ourselves before the entire court, after all, but if we may take one or both of them alone…I see no reason why we shouldn't settle with them at the same time."

"At last!" Lucinda said. "For too many centuries have the kings of Armorique shirked the debt they owe to us, but no longer."

"Put on your gowns and feathers, adorn yourselves in jewels!" Ruby declared. "For it is not long now until our debts are paid and our accounts are settled. We need only wait until tonight."

"Until tonight," the three sisters chorused.

* * *

 _Author's Note: So we are going to get to the big party next chapter, I promise._


	11. A Debt to Pay

_Morgaine: The princess Adam mentioned is from the novel; you'll be meeting her a little later in the story where more about their connection will be revealed._

* * *

A Debt to Pay

"Belle!" Cinderella cried, as she saw Belle and Adam climb the steps into the ballroom. She – and Eugene at her side – made their way towards them. "I'm so glad that you could both make it…I mean," she curtsied. "I bid you welcome to our palace, and I hope that you have a very enjoyable evening here."

Belle smiled as she curtsied back. "I thank you very much for having us, your highness."

"Please, Belle, there's no need to stand on ceremony."

"Isn't there?" Belle asked. "This is a very ceremonious place."

"Yes, but nobody's paying attention at the moment," Cinderella replied.

Belle's smile became a little mischievous as her voice rose. "Aren't they, Cinderella?"

There was no response from the gathered notables, lords and dignitaries already thronging the ballroom. Crowds failed to gasp in horror; all conversation failed to slam to a halt in shock at the lack of decorum; you could not have heard a pin drop, or even an entire tray of crystal goblets, for all the hubbub sounds of conversation.

Cinderella covered her mouth as she giggled. "I did tell you."

Eugene was dressed in the uniform of a hussar, with a red jacket laden down with gold brocade across the chest and arms, and golden faces on his cuffs and collar; his riding britches were blue, with more gold trim and silver buttons down the side, and his knee-high boots were polished to a shine. One arm was concealed behind a scarlet pelisse trimmed with black bear fur, but his hand emerged from it as he held it out to Adam. "Prince Adam, it's good to see you again."

Adam was rather less extravagantly dressed, wearing a green tailcoat with very little in the way of piping or brocade anywhere to be seen upon it, so that if Cinderella hadn't known he was the prince of the Franche-Comte she might almost have taken him for a country gentleman returned from a day's ride. He wore long white leggings up to his knees, in the slightly old-fashioned style, with small dark shoes with silver buckles on his feet. He took Eugene's hand with a little more warmth than he had shown to Cinderella when she had first called upon him. "Prince Eugene, likewise." He smiled. "May I belatedly congratulate you upon a most excellent marriage."

Eugene returned the smile in kind as he drew Cinderella a little closer. "Yes, I'm the most fortunate of men, without a doubt. I hope that you are _almost_ as happy in your marriage as I am in mine." He let go of Adam's hand – or rather they both released the other – before taking Belle's hand gently in his and raising it to his lips. "Madame; perhaps we will have a little more opportunity to get to know one another than we did at our last meeting."

"Our visit to you will be much longer than yours was with us," Belle said. "So I hope so as well."

"And I hear that you're a father now as well, Eugene? Congratulations on that, too."

It might have been in Cinderella's imagination – and honestly she rather hoped that it was – but Eugene's smile seemed to her to become just a little more fixed in place than it had been a moment ago, and by the same token a little less warm and genuine. "Yes, I certainly have a great deal to be thankful for: a perfect wife and an expansive family."

 _That might not have stopped growing yet,_ Cinderella thought, because for all the trouble that had befallen during her last pregnancy she still hoped for more children, at least one son of her own womb and body and perhaps more children after that; but she did not say so, because that would have required Eugene to return to her bed once again and, well, because it didn't seem the time or place to bring it up.

"You're very fortunate," Belle said. "I, I'm not ashamed to say that I envy you both."

Adam looked a little uncomfortable, and possibly a little guilty for having brought the subject up, but when Eugene replied his tone was airy and somewhat blithe. "There are a few things that you're missing, but I wouldn't be too jealous about it. There are advantages to your position," his tone lowered, and his voice became a little softer. "You have each other, after all, and may be assured of that. You needn't be so concerned as you might be otherwise."

Cinderella frowned, she didn't really understand what Eugene was saying, and to be frank the conversation was starting to lose a little of its pleasantness. She didn't know what anyone was going to say next.

Adam came to her rescue. "Eugene," he said. "May I call you Eugene, your wife has been kind enough to dispense with the formalities?"

Eugene shrugged. "You're the ruling prince, if you're comfortable being informal then who am I to complain?"

"Wonderful," Adam said. "I hope you don't mind talking business for a little while before dinner but there are a few things I'd like to mention to you; why don't we leave the ladies to it before we start to bore them."

Cinderella might have been a little offended at Adam trying to exclude her – and Belle – from the serious discussion, had she not suspected that it was more a way of leading the conversation out of the waters in which it had been mired.

Eugene looked at her inquiringly.

"I'll be fine," Cinderella said.

"We both will," Belle said, drawing a little closer to her.

"Alright then, I'll be back in just a moment," Eugene said, and he kissed Cinderella lightly on the lips before he allowed Adam to lead him away.

Cinderella watched the walk into the crowd for a moment before she shot Belle an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, I…I don't know why he said that."

To Cinderella's mixture of confusion and relief, Belle looked more thoughtful than offended. "I might…you had a difficult pregnancy, didn't you?"

Cinderella looked down at the hem of her ballgown, hiding her feet from view. She tried not to remember that night in any great detail: the blood, the pain, the sense of everything flowing out of her…she preferred to focus on the two beautiful girls that had resulted from it. But, well, short of barefaced and blatant lying she couldn't really deny that Belle was on the mark. "Yes," she admitted. "I suppose you could say that, but I don't really see what that has to do with anything?"

Belle frowned. "I…I shouldn't say, it's not really my place, and if I'm wrong…" she looked away from Cinderella, and cast an appraising gaze over their men as they presented their backs to the two ladies. Belle grinned mischievously. "I think mine is the more handsome by some distance."

"Oh!" Cinderella exclaimed, her uncertainty lifting like a weight taken off her back and her worry that Belle was upset dissipating. She laughed. "Even if that were true – which it isn't – mine would still be the better dressed by far." She smiled up at Belle. "You look absolutely lovely, by the way."

Belle was dressed in a gown all of gold, with a full skirt made up of eight triangular panels, each one rippling slightly up and down like the undulating motion of the waves upon the water. The bodice was simple, but emphasised the slenderness of her frame, while the wrapped sleeves fell off her shoulders and down towards thin arms enveloped in opera gloves as golden as the rest of the gorgeous dress. She wore her hair half in a bun, bounded by a thin golden kirtle, while the rest descended down her neck and draped elegantly but languorously over her shoulder. Despite the absence of any jewellery save for a pair of simple gold earrings, she still looked so wonderful that once again Cinderella was left with the sensation of having been put in the shade.

"Oh, I'm glad you like it," Belle said. "It's my favourite dress."

"I can see why," Cinderella said admiringly. "Would you twirl for me, please?"

Belle looked a little self-conscious, but she obliged without a word of complaint, turning in place to reveal a many-layered petticoat beneath the golden skirt, and golden shoes upon her heel.

Cinderella clasped her hands together at her breast. "Oh, you're so beautiful."

"So I've been told," Belle murmured. She stopped twirling, and cast her lovely hazel eyes over Cinderella. "You on the other hand, are simply stunning."

"Oh, thank you so much," Cinderella said, because it was very kind of Belle to say so even though she couldn't hold a candle to the other girl. Nevertheless she had tried her best, in a gown that was her favoured white, with a beaded bodice that sparkled with diamond dust sewn in amongst the beads tailored to her – a little less slender than Belle's – figure; the skirt was somewhere between ruffled and being many layers of peplum, with only a single layer of the (outer) skirt reaching all the way to the ground, with the others descending lower and lower but always longer at the back then at the front, forming impression of a train that followed along the ground behind her. The lace-trimmed bateau collar of her gown left less room for necklaces than Cinderella usually allowed herself, so by her own choice she had been restricted to only a single diamond choker, three strands deep, wrapped around her throat, with a crystal swan with a tiny sapphire for an eye set in the centre of it. She had made up for this restraint with a rows of stacked bracelets climbing up her arms up from her wrist, which she could feel through the silk of her white opera gloves: diamond bracelets, including the one that Eugene had given her as a gift before the wedding clasped around her right wrist; sapphire bracelets; diamond-and-sapphire bracelets all glistening under the light of the many candles that illuminated the ballroom. A pair of large diamond earrings hung from her ears, while the rolls of the French twist into which her hair had been arranged fell upon a silver silk hairband and behind a spindly crystal tiara set with diamonds.

While her wedding and engagement rings sat upon her right hand, upon her left she wore a silver ring set with a single square cut diamond.

"I'd like to show you something," Cinderella said, lifting up her skirt and lifting up one glass slipper-clad foot.

Belle's eyebrows rose. "Glass?"

"Yes," Cinderella said. "Eugene gave them to me as an anniversary present."

Belle let out a kind of laugh. "Whatever made him think of that?"

"Oh, I must tell you the whole story some time-" Cinderella began, before she was interrupted by the ringing of a bell from the far end of the ballroom. "But now I think we'd better go into dinner."

Belle slipped her arm into Cinderella's crook as Cinderella led the way towards the dining hall. It was strange, Cinderella could remember the days when she had gotten lost within this labyrinth, but now Belle was relying on her to be her guide.

Of course, she didn't really need a guide – she could have just followed the whole crowd that was all going the same way – but it was nice of her to pretend anyway.

"How are your children?" Belle asked. Cinderella's surprise at her asking must have shown on her face, for she smiled slightly and went on. "I can stand to hear the word, and I'm interested."

"I'm sorry, I just thought…I'm sorry," Cinderella said. "They're very well. I just put Philippe to bed before I came down."

"You do that yourself?" Belle asked.

"Of course," Cinderella replied. "Who else would do it?"

"I'm sure you could find someone," Belle murmured, with a glance around the lavish ballroom.

Cinderella chuckled. "Well, yes, put like that…but the servants can do things for my children, they can wash them and dress them and even feed them; but only I can love them, and only I can make them feel loved."

"I…wouldn't necessarily completely agree with you," Belle said. "Adam was raised by his servants; they loved him, for all his faults, and he…for all his faults he loved them too."

"I didn't know," Cinderella murmured. "But what about his parents?"

Belle hesitated. "I…he doesn't talk about them much, but I think his mother died when he was very young and his father…"

Cinderella nodded. "If anything…if anything happened to me then perhaps Philippe and my girls would need the servants to love them, and to make them feel loved; and perhaps they even would. But for now they still have me, and so I'm going to tuck my stepson in at night and kiss him good morning when he wakes up, and when my daughters are old enough to wake up in the morning instead of every hour or so I'll do exactly the same for them."

"And they'll be very fortunate in it, I'm sure," Belle said. As they left the ballroom, she cast one last glance behind her. "I may not like the architecture of this place as much as our castle back home, but I have to admit it is enormous. How do you find your way around?"

Cinderella laughed abashedly. "Through trial, error, and hoping that someone can hear you call for help when you get lost, I'm afraid. Perhaps I could give you a tour sometime?"

"That would be very kind of you," Belle said.

As they entered the grand ballroom, Cinderella led Belle up towards the head of the table, where His Majesty, Prince Eugene and Prince Adam were already waiting for them. As Belle, her wedding ring gleaming upon her left hand, made her way up the table in the direction of the head and of the King's seat, a few whispers and mutters began to follow her, as monocle-wearing former members of the Privy Council and ladies from Armorique's grand old families leaned back in their seats, and glanced and stared and murmured amongst themselves about what they were seeing.

"Ignore them," Cinderella whispered into Belle's ear as the two of them swept past. "That's what I've learnt to do."

"Then so shall I," Belle replied.

Cinderella led Belle around the table, passing the royal seat where His Majesty stood.

"Your Majesty," Cinderella said, with a curtsy to her father-in-law. "I hope that you've already been introduced to Prince Adam of the Franche-Comte, but may I present to you his wife, Belle."

Belle curtsied gracefully. "Your Majesty, thank you for you generous invitation."

The King took her hand. "I suspect that you well know whom you should really thank, but your words are gracefully accepted nonetheless."

Cinderella showed Belle around the table to her seat, between Eugene and Frederica, who were both already standing behind their chairs.

"Good to see you again," Frederica murmured. "We met at your wedding, I don't know if you remember."

"I…I think I do," Belle said. "You asked how I was."

"And you told me that you had always been an outcast," Frederica replied. She grinned. "Do you feel any less of one now?"

"A little," Belle admitted.

"Cinderella has that effect," Frederica said.

Cinderella pretended not to hear them as she went to her own seat, back on the other side of the table – she passed around the King a second time – next to Adam and opposite Belle. It was only once she, the last person to reach their seat, was standing behind it that the King himself sat down in the silent, unspoken signal that everyone else could take their seats also.

The banquet was lavish, as Cinderella had expected given the stellar quality of the palace chefs and the fact that one of their guests was a visiting ruling prince. Since her wedding Cinderella had never known a bad meal here, and the kitchen didn't produce one tonight. Dinner was served _a la francaise_ , with all of the courses emerging at once – or as close as could be humanly achieved by the serving staff available – and being laid out down the table until it was groaning under the wait of so many dishes: roast pork, beef, lamb and chicken all slavered in rich and succulent smelling sauces; potatoes roasted, buttered and dauphinoise; buttered parsnips, carrots, artichokes, turnip and beetroot; oysters, eels and smoked herrings freshly caught that day; pies and cakes and luscious puddings they all lay spread out in a great column down the table, with the choicest-seeming dishes placed at the head before the King and his family and the visiting prince, while towards the bottom of the table the far became a little more sparse for those who were not so well-connected.

Cinderella at little, as was her wont; she had never been a great eater and Belle's slimness had rather put her to shame; she picked at her food, mostly vegetables with just a little meat and fish, and only mustered any appearance of enthusiasm when she caught Eugene looking at her; he was always concerned that she didn't eat enough.

She sent a few cuts of some of the nicest looking and loveliest smelling dishes a little down the table to her ladies and Jean, in case they were missing out.

Prince Adam, meanwhile, devoured the meat set before him with all the enthusiasm of a true carnivore. It was not that he ate rudely, although from the somewhat awkward way he held his elbows and kept glancing at Cinderella as though he was afraid that he was jogging her with his arm he might have feared that that was the case; in fact he ate in a perfectly genteel and civilised manner, but he also ate so heartily that he made His Majesty the King appear fastidious, and overwhelmingly upon the flesh of what had once been living creatures.

Belle ate a little more than Cinderella might have expected given her size, but in a manner much like Cinderella herself: picking slightly at morsels sprung from many dishes, without committing herself to any single one or few.

In their own ways, both she and her husband seemed to be enjoying the meal, which was what mattered most of all.

They did not discuss politics; there would be a time for that, in a more formal setting than…well, not to say that a state banquet wasn't formal, perhaps a better choice of words would be to say an _official_ setting; the banquet, however convivial, was formal but not quite in the right way for a discussion of the business that had actually brought Adam and Belle to Armorique in the first place. Instead they discussed art and culture: Prince Adam was fond very fond of music even though by his own admission he couldn't play an instrument or carry a tune to save his life, and he lamented that there was no city or town in his principality large enough to be the home of an orchestra which he could patronise; this led to a polite verbal fencing match between Eugene and Adam over whether Cinderella or Belle had the prettier singing voice.

"Perhaps, rather than you continuing to assert that which the other has no experience of," Frederica interrupted with a roll of her eyes. "We might simply reconvene at some convenient and hear these two nightingales in contrast." She smiled. "Or even in duet with one another, for although there is sometimes a little pleasure to be derived from a pair of lovely voices straining to outdo one another, there is, I find, more to be obtained from hearing the twain embrace one another in harmony."

"I agree," Cinderella said. "Like a marriage."

Frederica let out a bark of laughter. "Yes, I suppose you could say that, and you certainly would. Like a marriage, like a good marriage…or a wholesome partnership."

Belle, it turned out, was a great reader, with opinions on all manner of literature that threatened to make Cinderella's head spin, and even Eugene and Frederica looked as though they were having trouble keeping up with some of her opinions as she dashed from one subject to the next (Adam looked fondly confused). On the other hand she was rather ignorant of the theatre, a deficit which Cinderella – who in her capacity as princess was patroness of the Theatre Royal – promised to remedy during her stay with them.

At length, all of the vast meal was devoured, and the table stood relieved of much of its prior burden as only empty plates and platters remained where once there had been piles of food.

It was at this point that all of the now full and heavily laden – Cinderella couldn't help but wonder if the order of things shouldn't have been reversed – dinner guests rose to their feet and returned to the ballroom for the dancing.

Eugene took her by the arm, and they made their way onto the floor for the first dance, but before the music could begin to swell Cinderella noticed that Paulette, one of her chambermaids, was making her way shyly and subserviently through the guests and revellers towards them.

"Pardon me, my lords and ladies, a thousand pardons, excuse me, please," Paulette said, almost cringing a little as she squeezed through to Cinderella and Eugene. She bobbed up and down. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but you _did_ say as how you wanted to be kept informed of these things…"

"Is something wrong?" Cinderella asked.

"I'm not quite sure ma'am, but Madeline said as how the young duke woke up crying, and now he's asking for you."

"Oh dear," Cinderella said. She looked at Eugene apologetically. "Excuse me, darling, I'll try not to be too long." She smiled hopefully at him. "Unless you'd like to come with me."

"Are you sure that you need to go?" Eugene asked. "I'm certain that Madeline can-"

"Eugene," Cinderella said, in a voice loaded with gentle reproach. "He's our son." She didn't quite realise that she'd said that until the words were out of her mouth. Just as Philippe had never called her 'mother' until this morning so too had she never described herself – even implicitly – in that way until tonight, certainly not to Eugene. She waited to see if he would react to it, or if her words would stir a little guilt in him. Neither happened, or at least neither that she could see. Cinderella couldn't have guessed what he was feeling in that moment, his face had become as inscrutable as a sphinx. "He's our son," she said again, softy and tentatively. "And he's upset. I can't just ignore that and dance the night away, not even with you."

She didn't ask him to come with her again, even though she would have liked him too for Philippe's sake. She was worried…she was worried that Philippe would think that his father didn't love him; Cinderella didn't believe that that was true, but she did know and understand that even now Eugene had a difficult time with his son. It wasn't fair, for either of them, and she wished it was not so…but she wasn't going to force the issue too much; Eugene felt how he felt and all Cinderella could do was care for Philippe and hope that – since she was alive and perfectly well – Eugene would be more comfortable around his daughters.

She smiled, tenderly, to try and dull the sting of her going. "I will try and be back as soon as I can," she said, by which she meant that she wouldn't leave Philippe prematurely but she would hurry back as soon as she could leave him. "Promise that you'll save me a dance."

Eugene's smile was very thin, but at least he managed to smile at her. "I'll do my best, darling," he said, before he kissed her on the cheek. "Now hurry along, and hurry back."

Cinderella nodded, and let go of his arm as she turned to go. She paid no attention to the people who whispered as they heard her going; whyever they thought she was leaving they would either find out the truth or simply learn that their notions were mistaken, and in the meantime whatever ideas they might have didn't really matter.

She left the ballroom, and found herself in one of the corridors that led out into the various different wings of the vast palace; it was dark, unlit at present since everyone who was anyone was in the ballroom and it wasn't time for anyone to leave it, and there were no staff in attendance that Cinderella could see. It was often thus, when one part of the palace was particularly busy it left many others very neglected.

"Cinderella? Is something wrong?"

Cinderella turned to see Belle standing behind her, her gold dress luminous in the dark corridor.

"Belle," Cinderella murmured. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw you leaving," she said. "I was a little worried. I don't get out of the country much but I can't imagine it's usual for a princess to leave her own ball before its even started."

Cinderella chuckled. "I plan on coming back, but Philippe had a nightmare – that's what it sounds like anyway – and he wants me."

Belle smiled. "You really do put it first, don't you? Being a mother, I mean."

Cinderella shrugged. "Is there anything more important?" She cringed. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Stop apologising," Belle said. "I told you, I'm not so thin-skinned." She hesitated for a moment. "Would you mind if I came with you?"

Cinderella hesitated for a moment. "I suppose not, although I'm not sure why you'd want to."

Belle said, "Perhaps it's just that you're the nicest person in this palace and I don't want to let you out of my sight."

Cinderella laughed. "That's very kind of you, but rather unfair to some others here. If you gave them a chance I'm sure you'd find my ladies very welcoming."

"Perhaps," Belle allowed. "But I'd rather spend a little more time with you, if you don't mind?" She paused. "Of course, this is your stepson we're talking about, if you'd rather-"

"No, I'm sure he won't mind meeting you," Cinderella said. "Philippe doesn't mind strangers. I'm more worried that you'll be bored."

Belle reached out, and took Cinderella by the hand. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" she asked.

At which point, Cinderella decided that she'd better give up or Philippe might have fallen asleep again by the time she got to him. "Alright," she said. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Cinderella led the way, guiding Belle through the shadowy and ill-lit corridors towards the Queen's Tower. As a tour it left much to be desired, because although Cinderella had learnt a great deal about the palace over the course of the two years that she had lived here – about certain parts of it anyway, some parts of this vast building were so little used that she had still never been there – it was now so dark that Belle couldn't have seen much even if Cinderella had tried to point it out to her.

"I shall have to try and show you all of this in the daylight, or even a night when all the candles are lit," Cinderella said as she led Belle along. "It may not be your palace-"

"Castle," Belle said.

"Excuse me?"

"Adam doesn't have a palace," Belle explained. "He has a castle; an old and gothic castle brooding on a windswept hilltop with gargoyles and cold stone passageways."

"You might it sound so grim and forbidding."

"If you ever come to visit us you'll find it really is just like something out of a certain kind of romance," Belle said, her smile seeming even brighter in the lack of light. "A brooding, gothic castle with my very own brooding, gothic prince to sweep me off my feet."

Cinderella considered that for a moment. Brooding and gothic were not two words she would have associated with Prince Adam. "He doesn't seem to brood very much any more."

"No," Belle said. "I'd like think that I had something to do with that."

"You make it sound as though there's a fascinating story behind all of this, Belle," Cinderella said.

Belle laughed. "Cinderella, you have no idea."

They continued on a little bit longer before Cinderella said, "And so this palace, it isn't gothic enough for you?"

"It's very big," Belle said. "But it's a little…I don't want to offend you."

"Go on," Cinderella said, with amusement in her voice.

Belle hesitated before she spoke. "You must have noticed that it's a little bit flat from the outside; a little bland. There isn't much to it but the size."

"When I used to look out from my window at it each day it seemed like the grandest thing in the world," Cinderella said. "Gleaming like my dreams; it may not have a lot of gargoyles, but to me…the way the marble gleams when the sun hits it is simply magical."

"And if you think so then I'm happy for you," Belle said. "But to me…even this darkness doesn't have any character, it's just dark. Why is it so dark?"

"Because nobody's here, or nobody should be," Cinderella said. "And it saves on candles."

"Very economical."

"I know, it surprised me too," Cinderella said. "I'm told that when you have to run a palace as large as this one some economies are absolutely vital. But I know exactly what you mean: on my first ball here after my wedding, I got lost getting from my room to the ballroom. But don't worry; I know where I'm going now."

"I'm sure," Belle murmured uncertainly.

Cinderella stopped. They were almost to the base of the Queen's Tower. "Belle? Is something the matter?"

Belle had also stopped. She looked back behind her. "I think someone might be following us."

Cinderella frowned. She looked behind her, past Belle, but saw nothing down the short length of corridor that they had just left behind. "I don't see anyone?"

"I know, but I'm sure they're there," Belle said. "I'm certain I can hear footsteps.

Cinderella took a step back, closer to Belle whom she had allowed to trail a little while Cinderella led the way. She couldn't imagine who would be following her, or why they'd be doing it while hiding at the same time, but she also couldn't imagine why Belle would make something like that up.

Her mind went back to that first ball, when she had gotten lost in the labyrinthine mass of corridors. Lucien had taken the opportunity to sneak up on her, and although he had helped her find her way to the ballroom, it had later occurred to Cinderella that he must – or might at least – have been following her through the secret passages in the walls for some time before deciding to reveal herself, and that after he let her call out in a degree of mounting panic before appearing behind her as if by magic. Was the same thing happening again? Had she acquired some new Lucien Gerard that she knew not of? Was someone really following them, and why?

"Hello?" she called. "Is there someone there?"

"It's only me, your highness," Jean said as he stepped out from around the corner.

"It's only us," Angelique said, as she joined him.

Cinderella could not help but let out a sigh of relief. "Jean!" she declared. "Angelique! What are you both doing?"

"I thought it might not be the wisest course for you and your guest to be wandering these dark and empty corridors alone, your highness," Jean said. "That you should come to harm is unthinkable, and if any ill fortune befell Lady Belle then it might cause trouble with her husband."

"And I decided I'd rather wander round with the person I like rather than stay in the ballroom," Angelique explained. She smirked slightly. "A bit like you, I think."

Belle glanced at Cinderella, with curiosity in her eyes as if she didn't know whether to believe Jean or not. Cinderella gave a slight nod of her head, hopefully enough to let Belle know that he was perfectly sincere.

"That's very good of you, Jean, but do you think that's necessary?"

"I wish that this palace were so safe a haven that it was not, princess."

"Is there any reason you had to act like you were trying not to be seen or heard?" Belle asked.

"I didn't want to disturb you," Jean said simply. "I apologise if I caused any alarm."

"That's quite alright, Jean," Cinderella said. She didn't tell him to go back, or Angelique either, partly because there was a good chance that they wouldn't listen and partly because, quite honestly, having them around _did_ make her feel a little safer. Jean was right to point out that this palace had never been the haven from trouble and strife that Cinderella might have hoped that it would be; her enemies seemed to find their way inside with a depressing regularity, but somehow her friends and supporters had always managed to keep her safe from harm and Jean and Angelique had played a great part in that.

If they wished to spend their evening watching over her, Cinderella certainly wasn't going to complain.

She and Belle, with Jean and Angelique following behind at a slightly less discreet distance now, climbed the many winding staircases that led up the Queen's Tower. Philippe's room was three floors down from Cinderella's spacious chambers, but even that was a good deal of climbing to do. Nevertheless they reached it as quickly as they could, and Cinderella pushed open the door into her stepson's bedroom.

"Philippe?" she said, her voice soft and gentle as she stepped into the room; unlike the landing outside, the room was lit with a pair of candles sitting on a chest of drawers. "Is something the matter? I'm told that you woke up crying?"

Philippe was sitting up in bed, his face anxious and a little sweaty. His eyes – brown like his father – lit up when he caught sight of her. "Mother!" he cried, as he tried to leap out of bed but ended up tangling himself up in his bedclothes. "You're alright!"

" _I'm_ alright?" Cinderella asked curiously, as she made her way over to his bedside, thus sparing Philippe the need to try and get up. She sat down on the edge of his bed, and put one gloved and bejewelled arm around his shoulders as she looked down at him. "Whatever do you mean? Why shouldn't I be alright?"

"Maddy told me you were too busy to come and see me," Philippe said, with a slightly accusing glance at Madeline where she stood in the corner.

"Madeline was half right, I am busy," Cinderella said. "But I'm never too busy for you, not ever." She squeezed him gently, and bent down to kiss him on the forehead. "Now, why don't you tell me what the matter is?"

Philippe wriggled a little. "I thought…I thought Maddy might have been lying," he said. "I thought you might have…you might have gone away, like grandmother."

"Philippe," Cinderella whispered. "Why…why would you even think that?"

"Because the three women were coming to get you," Philippe said. "I…I didn't like the look of them, and they had you surrounded, and you were frightened, and one of them said that they were going to…and then they reached out for you and they had long nails like knives and I was really scared and you were scared and then…and then I woke up."

"Oh, Philippe," Cinderella said, her voice a gentle whisper as she hugged Philippe closer to her side. "That was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. There aren't any three women coming to get me, and I'm not in any danger at all. In fact I've just come from meeting some delightful new people. Would you like to meet one of my new friends?"

Philippe nodded.

"Belle, would you like to come in?" Cinderella called, and when Belle entered she said. "Philippe, this is Belle, the wife of Prince Adam who has come all the way from a place called the Franche-Comte to speak to your grandfather. Belle, this is Philippe, the Duke of Morlaix."

Belle smiled sweetly. "A pleasure to meet you, young man."

"It's very nice to meet you as well, Princess Belle," Philippe said.

Belle's mouth opened a little, but in the end she decided not to argue the point, but merely smiled a little more broadly in thanks.

"Now that you know that I'm fine," Cinderella said, as with one hand she stroked Philippe's hair. "Do you want to try and go back to sleep?"

Philippe looked up at her. "Will…will you stay with me until I do?"

Cinderella kissed him again, before she got up and sat down on a nearby chair. "Of course I will," she said. "Now close your eyes, and lie down."

Philippe closed his eyes, and lay down facing her, burying his hands underneath his pillow.

"Mother?" he murmured.

"Yes, sweet boy?" Cinderella asked.

"You know…you know that I don't want anything to happen to you, don't you?"

Cinderella frowned. "Why would I think you wanted anything to happen to me?"

Philippe opened his eyes. "Because…because you say that a dream is a wish your heart makes, but that isn't my wish at all."

"I know," Cinderella said. "Dreams are wishes, but nightmares…nightmares are something else. Nightmares are fears that your heart shows to you. Now, close your eyes."

Philippe shut his eyes again, and as he did so Cinderella began to hum softly, crooning a lullaby that her mother had sang to her when she had had nightmares that made her unable to sleep. She hummed until she was sure that Philippe was sleeping, and only then did she get up, blow out the candles, and leave the room.

"I hope that didn't bore you," she said to Belle.

"No," Belle said. "You're a natural, aren't you?"

"I try my best," Cinderella said. "I…would you like to see my daughters? I hope they'll be asleep, but…very quickly?"

"I'd be delighted to," Belle said.

They went upstairs. The nursery, which lay one floor above Philippe's room and two below Cinderella's own chambers, was – when they arrived there, which was quickly enough – as dark as the rest of the tower and the corridors that they had traversed to get there. The girls had dropped off to sleep when Cinderella had gone down to dinner, and there was not the light of a single candle to disturb their rest, nor had Philippe's waking from his nightmare roused them in turn.

When they came in – Cinderella slipped the rings off her fingers and deposited them on a little table by the door, lest Isabelle or Annabelle swallow them – the nursery was as silent as the room was dark; more, in fact, because although there were no candles lit nor lanterns present the curtains had been left drawn, and through the window the light of the moon shone silver, illuminating the heavy wooden crib where the babies slept.

As Cinderella, accompanied by Belle, made her way towards the cradle, her gaze glanced briefly over it to one of the shelves that lined the nursery wall: this particular shelf was half filled with books, but next to the books there sat a toy, one of Eugene's old ones that he had found somewhere: a wind-up monkey with a pair of cymbals in his hands which, when the clockwork was wound up, he would bang together furiously until the spring was wholly unwound. Personally, Cinderella found the toy rather eerie, what with that overly large grin on the monkey's face that seemed more disturbing to her than friendly.

Still, it was hardly something to focus on. She crossed to the cradle, and leaned down over it to gaze down on her sleeping babies as they lay, slumbering, eyes closed and arms wrapped around one another.

The sight of them made her heart melt every time.

Judging by the sound that she was making as she came to stand beside her, it seemed that Belle was having much the same reaction.

"They're so…aren't they?" Belle murmured.

"They certainly are," Cinderella whispered. "The most precious pair of angels in my life." She almost reached down to them, but stopped herself in case she woke them up. "I didn't know how much they'd mean to me until they arrived. But now…

"What are their names?" Belle asked softly.

Cinderella pointed to her golden haired child. "Isabelle," she said. "And that's Annabelle."

Belle smiled. "Isabelle and Annabelle. I can tell you that any name with the word 'Belle' is a very find name in my book."

Cinderella chuckled. "I…I don't know how to tell you how much I love them. I can't imagine what I wouldn't do for them."

There was a clattering sound that made Cinderella look up. It was the monkey, the little toy monkey with the cymbals, the cymbals that he had just banged together as he seemed to look straight at Cinderella with that manic, almost eerie grin on his face.

"That's funny," Cinderella murmured. "Nobody wound that up, I don't-"

The monkey was still looking at Cinderella as it banged its cymbals together again. Annabelle began to squall as she opened her eyes and shook her little arms wildly; it seemed to be her movement, rather than the noise, that awakened Isabelle and set her to crying too.

"Oh dear," Cinderella said, as she reached down into the cradle and scooped both her little darlings up in her arms, cradling them both, rocking them gently from side to side in an effort to calm and quiet them. "There there, my darlings, it's alright. It's alright. Mama's here, and you're safe. There there, there's no need to worry and no need to fuss."

The monkey kept on banging, and not only banging its cymbals together but moving too, shaking from back and forth as though he was on the march, his body rocking back and forth to create the impression of his legs rising and falling, and still he kept on banging those cymbals together, the sound getting louder and louder until it seemed impossible that it was just one pair of cymbals making that noise, it sounded like a whole great cacophony of instruments banging together, banging and clattering while the screams of Cinderella's babies got even louder.

On Belle's face was mirrored all of the alarm that Cinderella could feel rising within her breast. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Cinderella said, but-"

The window blew open with a crash as a great gale blasted into the nursery, shaking the curtains and rocking the cradle back and forth as the sound of clattering cymbals got ever louder.

"Let's go," Cinderella said, but as she started – her daughters still in her arms, because there was no way she was leaving them her – towards the door it slammed shut with a very loud and very final noise that set the girls to crying even louder.

Belle reached the door and hauled on it. "It's locked, or stuck or something!"

"Jean!" Cinderella shouted, trying to be heard over the sounds of wind and brass. "Jean! Angelique! Can you hear us? We're trapped in here!"

She couldn't hear if either of her friends without replied. She couldn't hear anything over the hurricane that was blowing all around the nursery, scattering toys and books all over the floor.

And then…then the wind faded and the toy monkey stopped banging his instrument together and there was no sound but the fitful screaming of the little girls. And the laughter. The terrible laughter that sent a chill down Cinderella's spin.

They stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. No, it was more as though they had _been_ the shadows but now they were assuming a human form. Or almost human. As the three women – three women, just like Philippe's nightmare – emerged into the moonlight Cinderella was struck by how inhuman they seemed; their eyes were too large, their mouths were too small, it was like a children's drawing made flesh and in the transition stripped of all its charm. They wore elegant gowns of sable and black velvet, decorated with feathers of many bright and dazzling colours in their hair, but always it was to their eyes that Cinderella's own gaze returned: their eyes that were as green as the scales of venomous serpents.

"Hail, Cinderella, Princess of Armorique," one of them said.

"Hail, Cinderella, who was once a humble servant," said another.

"Hail, Cinderella, who has risen so far, so quickly," said the third.

"But hail not Belle, who is Princess of Nothing," said one of them, which the other two seemed to find terribly amusing by the way it set them cackling.

"Who…who are you?" Cinderella asked. She tried to hush her crying children. "How did you get in here?"

"We go where we wish, and none may keep us out."

"Who would want to?"

"None who were wise."

The first of these three women smiled with that overly-small mouth she had. "You have such beautiful girls, Cinderella."

Belle came to stand by Cinderella's side, and put one arm around her. "You didn't answer who you were."

"We have many name," one said.

"The Three Sisters we are called by some."

"The Sister Witches we are called by others."

"The Weird Sisters, the Odd Sisters, the terrifying Sisters Three."

"Though the great age of magic has passed long ago, yet we endure."

"Though Maleficent the Dark perished by the sword we have lived on."

"Though the world has changed we have stayed the same."

"And we have never forgotten a bargain that was made with us, nor failed to collect on a debt which we were owed."

Cinderella shivered. More witches? First Grace and now these sisters three? Was her life never to be free of dark magic?

 _All I want is peace and contentment. All I want is to love and be loved and to find happiness with my new family. Is that so wrong? Is that so terrible an ambition that I must be punished for it?_

"What do you want?" Belle demanded.

"What do we want? Has it been forgotten?" one of the witches said, her voice as sinuous as a snake slithering upon the ground. "And the little children."

"What?" Cinderella cried. "No!"

"A bargain was made long ago," one said.

"King Francis the Fair agreed it with us, that the first daughter born to his direct line should come to us in payment for our gift."

"Rest assured we'll take good care of both of them."

"No, you won't!" Cinderella cried, clutching her daughters closer to her. "Because I'm not going to just give my children up to you."

"We have a bargain with your-"

"I don't care," Cinderella said desperately. "I…please, I can't. There are my children, my babies, my girls, my darlings, I…I can't just give them up."

The three witches were silent for a moment, as if it hadn't occurred to them that Cinderella might refuse to honour this bargain that they claimed to have made.

Their voices, when they spoke again, were sharpened with menace. "We do not take kindly when people attempt to cheat us," one of them said.

"We do not give out gifts free gratis, or for repayments that never appear," said another.

"Those who try to stiff us all regret it!" they thundered in unison, as the wind began to rise once more.

"So we will ask you again, Princess of Armorique, and this once more, to give us your children, calmly and peacefully, and so fulfil the obligations of this house to the Sisters Three who helped it long ago."

"No," Cinderella whispered. "Please…please, you can't."

"Very well," said the witch who stood in the centre of the three. "Then we will rip them from your arms and take a remembrance of you besides."

The three of them began to advance upon her. Their nails were so long, Cinderella saw, as long as knives.

 _And they had long nails like knives._ Knives or cruel talons like birds of prey. _And I am the field mouse._

Cinderella backed away as they advanced upon her, but soon she had backed into the wall and there was nowhere left to go. She turned away, crouching down, shielding the crying babies with her body as the witches bore down upon her.

There was a hammering upon the door, a series of echoing blows that made the wood shake and shudder, but Cinderella paid it little mind and it brought her no hope at all, for surely it was simply another affect of the witches to frighten her yet further.

It was working, and they were almost upon her now.

Belle threw herself between the three and Cinderella. "Stop! I won't let you do this! You can't just take two children away from their mother, what are you monsters."

"You will not stand in the way of us again, Belle," one of the witches said. "Step aside, or don't, for we will take your life in retribution either way."

"Retribution?" Belle asked. "What are you talking about? I've never met you before."

"Yet you have hurt us nonetheless, and hurt us sorely too!" one of the witches snarled.

"You ruined everything," another snapped. "And now you'll pay the price." She raised one long-nailed hand to strike.

There was a crack and a bang as the door to the nursery was flung open. The witches looked that way, crying out in surprise, as Jean burst, shoulder-first, into the room. His face was panicked, and then he saw these three women standing over Cinderella and poised to descend on Belle like rabid wolves and he comprehended at once that they were no friends of the princess.

His panicked face twisted into anger as with both hands he reached for the duelling pistols he wore at his belt…but by the time he drew them, the three witches were gone. They had simply vanished, disappeared into nothingness as if they had never been.

Only a dim echo of their voices remained, bouncing off the walls and into Cinderella's ears.

"This is not the end, Princess of Armorique, we will have our due and our revenge."

"We will have your daughters for our own."

"We will have the life that we demand."

"We will have all that we desire."

And then even their voices faded, and there was nothing at all. Nothing but the memory of what they had demanded, and the fear of what might happen next.

"There, there," Cinderella murmured to the girls, trying to calm them when she herself felt so many miles away from calm.

Angelique stood by Jean's side, her eyes wide with amazement. "What in God's name was that?"

Cinderella didn't answer, she couldn't answer, just as she couldn't answer the other question, the most important question of all.

 _What in God's name will become of us now?_

* * *

 _Author's Note: This was the first scene I ever came up with for this story: Cinderella in the darkened nursery, confronted by someone demanding that she give up her children. I didn't know who was doing the demanding or why but I really liked the idea; in part because it seemed the natural next step in the story, what with Cinderella becoming a mother._

 _And so I'm glad to finally get this scene down and out there._


	12. Council of War

Council of War

Jean walked into the sitting room in Cinderella's chambers. "His grace is still asleep, princess; but I've left Adragain on his door and the door ajar; he'll hear if there's any trouble."

"Thank you, Jean," Cinderella said softly. She sat on the settee in her sitting room, with her daughters still in her arms. They too were sleeping now, eyes closed and slumbering softly in the uneven cradle formed by her gloved and bejewelled arms. She hadn't put them down since those three witches had gone; a part of her didn't dare to.

The ball that had been going on downstairs had been prematurely ended; all the guests – with three notable exceptions – had been sent home with the explanation that Cinderella had been taken suddenly ill.

It only felt like part of a lie: Cinderella did feel ill. She felt sick to her stomach at what had happened to her, at the idea that someone was trying to take her girls away from her.

She looked down at them, so beautiful, so precious. Life out of her, her daughters, her babies; how could anyone want to tear them from her? And what would they do with them afterwards?

Eugene sat beside her, one arm around her shoulders while his other hand helped her to support the girls. His Majesty and all their wisest friends were in the room with them: Etienne Gerard, Eugene's old friend and the deputy commander of the city garrison, hawk-nosed and with a weathered look that made him seem old before his time; Marinette Gerard his younger sister, pretty with soft brown curls and soft brown eyes; Augustina du Bois, who had a complexion like a porcelain doll and a mind as sharp as any of her father's swords; Angelique, and Jean now back from checking up on Philippe; and Princess Frederica of Normandie, whom Cinderella considered a friend but whom she had, up until now, kept out of this magical aspect of her life. No longer. Now that her children were under threat Cinderella could use all the advice that she could get, and Frederica was too clever not to see what she thought about all of this.

The only person absent was Cinderella's other lady-in-waiting, Christine Roux, who had just departed down to the library in search of a book she hoped would shed a little light on some of this.

Belle and Prince Adam were here as well, all of them combining to make the sitting room that had always seemed perfectly spacious seem a little crowded at this point. The King and Frederica were seated, but Etienne was leaning against the wall and Augustina was sitting at the piano so that she was behind Cinderella and Eugene; Marinette was sitting _on_ the piano with her legs dangling down and her feet visible below her hem of her dress; Angelique – and Jean now – were standing, as was Belle; there was a chair free for Prince Adam, but he remained on his feet out of consideration for his wife and nobody else was forward enough to take the vacant chair.

Cinderella had just finished telling everyone not only what had happened to her and Belle in the nursery but also, in deference to the fact that to some of them this was their first encounter with things magical, everything else that had happened to her since magic had come into her life, good – she wouldn't be here if it weren't for magic – and bad.

The current circumstances had led to her telling the story of her arrival at the ball with a little less enthusiasm than might have been the case under different circumstances, but she hoped that she had gotten the point across.

Now, her story concluded, Cinderella looked around the room. To some – Frederica in particular – her tale was entirely new, others had heard very little of it; only Eugene had known all of it before tonight. Now Cinderella studied their faces, the various expressions of shock and surprise, and waited to see how they would react.

She only hoped that they would react swiftly and that, knowing the truth, they would still want to help her out of her current predicament.

That they would still want her in their lives.

That they didn't think her too dangerous to be around now.

"Magic," the King murmured. "It was magic, at that ball two years ago?"

"Cinderella's dress was magic," Eugene said. "Cinderella was then as she has always been. Perfect."

"Did I say anything to suggest otherwise?"

"Forgive me, father, but you sounded as though you might be about to suggest sorcery."

"My dear boy, in case you have forgotten I have experienced sorcery for myself and I know very well that what you have is _not_ the result of sorcery."

"Then why did you speak in that tone?"

"Am I not allowed to express surprise when something surprising happens?"

Augustina cleared her throat from behind the prince and princess. "Begging the pardons of your majesty and your highness, but this seems a time particularly ill-suited for a quarrel such as this."

The King looked abashed. "Yes, yes of course. You chide us rightly, mademoiselle."

"As for myself," Augustina said, as Cinderella craned her head to look at her lady over her shoulder. "I understand why you felt the need to keep this a secret: if I had known half of this when I first came into your service I probably would have believed that you were some sort of sorceress entrapping his highness; in those days when I could not believe that Prince Eugene had chosen you over me it would have salved my pride to tell myself that you had cheated with magic and that if I could only free him from your spell…" she smiled. "But now…the very idea that you triumphed using magic rather than out of the beauty of your soul seems… _quel enfantillage_."

"The general's daughter speaks with wisdom," Frederica said, her voice soft. "I am, I confess, a little offended that you kept all of this from me for so long – even this business with the woman Grace, which it seems all the rest of you knew about already – but put like that I can understand why. I, too, might have been less well disposed towards you at first."

"I certainly would have," Etienne said bluntly. "And if you recall I wasn't too well disposed towards you anyway. I hesitate to think what I might have thought or done if I had known…before I had the chance to see how true your love for Eugene is, and what a great good for this country your marriage has been."

"And…and now?" Cinderella asked.

Etienne stared at her. "And now, your highness?"

"Now…now what do you think of me?" Cinderella asked, addressing her question to all of them. "I have brought magic into your lives, put you in danger, and for that reason I probably should have told you sooner but I was afraid that…I was afraid that once you knew, once you understood-"

"You are explained to us, your highness, but you are not revealed by this," Etienne said. "The revelation occurred some time ago."

Cinderella frowned slightly. "I don't understand."

"He means that while little details like where you got the dress from make more sense now, it does not change what we already knew of you, your nature and your character," Frederica said. "That we understood well enough already."

"We are at your service, princess," Jean said.

"And anything that can or must be done to protect my grandchildren and my eventual heirs from these villains will be done," His Majesty declared. "To think that they dare waltz in here and demand the future queen! Outrageous audacity!"

Belle smiled. "Thank you, Cinderella, for trusting us with the truth, although you know us so much less well than anyone else here. It means a great deal."

Cinderella shook her head. "I couldn't leave you out of it; you're as involved in this as I am, it seems."

"Although I don't understand why," Angelique said.

"Do we really understand why Cinderella is involved in this?" Marinette asked.

"It seems, to be a little pedantic, as though she isn't really," Augustina said. "The children are."

"Yes," Marinette murmured. "But what I meant was, do we understand why they think they can just take the children?"

At that moment, Lady Christine Roux made her reappearance, carrying a pair of heavy, old leatherbound volumes in her arms. Tall and fair, Christine looked in many ways as though she could have been Angelique's better fed and better cared for sister, with the principal difference in their looks being Christine's excessive tallness and the elegant ringlets in which she wore her pale blonde hair. She swept into the sitting room and looked at the empty chair. Then she swept her gaze around the company and noted who was standing and who was already sitting.

Then, without a word, she sat down in the last chair remaining.

"I think I have it," Christine said. She held up one of the two books that had been in her arms, and now rested on her lap. "Francis the Fair, that's what they said, isn't it?"

"Uh, yes, I think so," Cinderella said.

"They did," Belle answered. "They said they made a bargain with King Francis the Fair."

Christine nodded. "Francis the Fifth was sometimes called the Fair; this is a collection of chronicles of the kings from those days and I am sure that I've read something in here…let me find it…" she began to flip through the pages of the leatherbound volume. "Francis the Fourth…Charles the Second…Louis the Just…Francis the Fifth, here we are. Now…ah! Here it is." Christine coughed into her hand before she began to read. "As two years turned to three, the whispers against Queen Mahaut increased in volume and in number, as many who were concerned with the succession of the throne urged King Francis to set his barren wife aside and wed a maid who could give him princely heirs to rule Armorique after him. King Francis refused all who suggested such a course, whether they did so in public or in private, declaring his love for the queen and his belief that they were both yet young enough to have issue yet."

"That must have been very hard for her," Cinderella said, thinking of Queen Mahaut enduring all those whispers, all that criticism for something that wasn't her fault. _At least her husband stood by her._ And yet she knew from personal experience that that alone wasn't enough to make all things better.

"She was probably her own harshest critic," said Belle.

"Thankfully, the King was proved right," Christine said, before she began to read again. "However, it was in this very year of Our Lord 1346 that the Queen was found to be with child. King Francis ordered the mass to be sung in thanks throughout the whole of Armorique to thank God for the blessing, and held a great tourney to celebrate the news at which he triumphed over all other knights in the jousting. The King gave money to the Dominican friaries across the land to pray for the health and soul of the Queen, of the King, and of the unborn child.

"Shortly thereafter, in that same year of Our Lord, the lost Princess Aurora of Aquitaine was found, sixteen years after her disappearance, having been living in a shepherd's cottage all those years in the care of three fairies."

"Fairies?" Angelique said.

"That's what it says," Christine said. "This chronicle was written in a more superstitious age; most modern accounts assume that it's a bit of nonsense, but…well, three witches appeared in the royal nursery and tried to abduct the young princesses, so maybe there is more to the wisdom of the superstitious ancients than one might imagine."

"So you think the same fairies who abducted this Princess Aurora are the same ones who tried to take Isabelle and Annabelle?" Angelique said.

"Will they bring them back after sixteen years?" Marinette asked.

"That would sixteen years too long without my daughters," Cinderella said. By then she would have missed…everything; well, not really everything, but she would have missed seeing them grow up, learn to walk, learn to talk; she would have missed dressing them up and teaching them how to dance and sing and watching Eugene teach them how to ride. She would have missed their whole childhoods. Even if she could have been assured that the witches would give the girls back after sixteen years, she couldn't have borne to lose them for that long. She simply couldn't.

"I don't actually think they are the same, they just both come in threes," Christine said. "If you'll let me finish."

"Sorry," Angelique muttered.

"Princess Aurora was wed to Prince Philip of Anjou," Christine read. "And at the tourney there King Francis unhorsed all challengers save Prince Philip himself, who unhorsed him in the final joust. Shortly thereafter…some Aquitaine business I won't bore you with…ah here: King Francis returned home, only to be told by his servants that in his absence Queen Mahaut had been taken gravely ill, that no physician could discern the cause nor treat the disease. It was feared that she would die, but King Francis declared that he would treat with the Devil himself to save the life of his beloved queen. He rode out in the dead of night and was not seen for several days; when he returned, he found that in his absence the Queen had miraculously recovered.

"King Francis was silent on the subject of what had befallen him during those days, and it was not until Queen Mahaut gave birth to a son, Prince Louis of Rennes, that he confessed that he had met with three witches at the crossroads, and that they had agreed to cure the Queen in exchange for the first daughter to be born of the direct royal line…" Christine trailed off for a moment. "You know, it's an interesting accident of history that no King of Armorique nor crown prince has had any but sons…until now."

Silence fell amongst them.

"So…" Marinette began, her voice trembling. "So they did make a bargain with the king in the past."

"A bargain he had no right to make," Angelique said. "You can't steal someone else's children and you can't give someone else's children away either!"

"I can understand why he did what he did," Eugene said. He tightened his grip on Cinderella's shoulder a little. "If…I would have done the same, in his position. He loved his wife, he couldn't bear to lose her, what else was he meant to do?"

"I know not, your highness, to speak true," Jean said. "But for the love of his wife King Francis has put you and your wife in a difficult position."

Cinderella looked at him, her blue eyes imploring. "You're not suggesting that we give them Isabelle and Annabelle, are you?"

"No," Eugene said at once. He looked down at them. "No, I would never suggest that. I was just saying…I can understand what drove him to make that bargain, as cruel or troublesome as it might seem to us."

"We have to find a way to stop them," Cinderella whispered. "Or make them give up, or…"

"We will," Eugene assured her. "We will."

Cinderella closed her eyes for a moment, and bowed her head. She felt Eugene's forehead touch hers as she pulled her close with one arm. She stayed like that for a while, she didn't care if anyone was watching her; she was frightened and she was tired and she wanted to feel the warmth of Eugene's strong arm around her, feel his head resting on hers, and believe for a moment that it would all turn out right in the end.

After a little while, she opened her eyes again. "But…that still doesn't explain why they want to harm you, Belle."

"I think I might know the answer to that," Adam said. His voice was gruff, and he looked shamefaced as he stepped away from his wife. "I'm afraid that this cannot be pinned on an old, conveniently dead Armorican king. This is my fault.

"These witches…they have a sister, by the name of Circe-"

"Circe!" Angelique exclaimed. "Did you say Circe?"

Adam looked down at her. "I did. Do you…do you know her?"

"She came to the gates last Christmastime, in the guise of an old woman, highness," Jean said. "She turned out to be an enchantress of some kind, testing the hospitality of this palace."

Adam nodded. "Yes, yes that is what she does. It is the same person. She came to my door in just the same way…but I sent her away, I…I wasn't the same person then. I was vain and spoiled and cruel and I was repulsed at the sight of a withered old hag with only a rose in her hand. By the time I realised my mistake…it was too late. She cursed me, turned me into a beast…" he smiled wanly. "You have been very honest with us, Princess Cinderella, so I think that you deserve a little honesty in turn. The reason that I was so reclusive for so many years is that I was under this curse that left me hideous and ashamed. I knew that the only way to break the curse was to find love and be loved, but…who could ever love a beast?"

Cinderella looked at Belle, and could not help but smile. "And now I understand."

Belle raised one eyebrow. "Understand what?"

"How you could have fallen so much in love that you would marry him in spite of…everything that is between you," Cinderella said.

Belle nodded. "After the curse was broken, a morganatic marriage didn't seem so large an obstacle."

"The fact is," Adam said. "That wasn't actually the first time that I had met Circe. I'd actually…I'd actually been engaged to her, briefly, when I was young."

There was a moment of silence as everyone seemed – Cinderella judged against her own silence and the causes of it – struggled to work out what to say. Although even if she had been able to think of something Cinderella probably would have kept silent, because she felt as though Belle ought to be the one to react to this news. She must feel, Cinderella felt, as Cinderella herself had felt upon learning that Eugene had had a love before her.

Belle was as silent as the rest, her face set and still, her chest rising and falling with her breath but no sound escaping her lips. "Engaged?" she asked.

"I was fifteen, only a child," Adam said. "My father had just died, I was…and she was beautiful. I met her on the road from Vienna, coming home from an Imperial Diet and she was so beautiful and I felt so lost…I was struck by her, I proposed to her on the very day we met without knowing anything about her. She accepted at first, and although looking back I see that she got more and more uncertain the more time she spent with me…I didn't notice that at the time. We travelled together on the road and then, one day, as we neared the castle…she left. I think she must have seen me for what I was and been disgusted by it.

"Her sisters, these three witches, thought that I had slighted her. They took my curse as my just punishment for that. I think they wanted to see me remain a beast for all time for…for hurting their sister. And now, because you broke the curse, they have decided to punish you for it." He reached out for Belle, but did not touch her. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Belle looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "And what do I have to forgive you for?"

Adam gaped at her. "For-"

"For having a life before you met me? Before your curse? It would be more surprising if you hadn't, and if what you told me is true…it doesn't sound as though it amounted to much. A young man's infatuation." Belle took his hand, and held it to her face, closing her eyes as she almost melted into his palm. "I love you. I will always love you. And you didn't choose for this to happen, they did."

Adam sighed with relief at the same time as a fond, grateful smile crossed his face. "I was so fortunate the day your father wandered into my castle." He looked out across the room. "So…now that we both have a vested interest in putting a stop to these witches, what are we going to do about it?"

"I'm hoping the other book I found in the library might help," Christine said, as she set the history to one side and held up the other tome. It was older by far, with the pages turning yellow and the cover starting to fall apart at the edges. "This is the _Daemonomicon_ , a catalogue of demons and witches compiled by a fourteenth century monk."

"How do you know this?" Angelique asked.

Christine shrugged. "I have an interest in the ways of our ancestors and in their beliefs." She opened the catalogue of demons, and once more began to sift through the pages. "I believe that the creatures are listed in order of their power or danger, so judging by how early in the book they come we'll know how much trouble we're in…Mephistopheles, Maleficent…oh dear."

"They came early, I take it, our three foes," Augustina said dryly.

"Immediately after the Most Foul Maleficent, Princess of Hell and most wicked of witches," Christine said. She turned over the page. "The Three Sisters of all witches without doubt the most cruel, although they may sometimes hide their cruelty for their own purposes. Like demons, they delight in tricking men with promises of favours, and such is their power that there is little that is beyond their will to accomplish, but aught that they do comes at a great and terrible price; they are particularly fond of demanding children in payment for their 'favours'.

"They will only accept payment in baby girls, and for a long time the fate of these poor children was the subject of great conjecture. However, I spoke in person with one of these stolen children, who escaped from their house and sought sanctuary in my monastery, and she told me that these foul sisters had sought to turn her from the path of righteousness and onto the dark road of evil, teaching her magic and the demonic arts and seducing her to their level of base wickedness. I was told that they also treat the girls who fill their house as daughters, acting as a peculiar kind of mother to them, although neglecting not only the unquestioning love which is the badge of motherhood but also many of the menial tasks which are a mother's duty. Indeed, to hear it described, I thought that servant might be as apt a word as daughter for the state of these stolen girls."

Cinderella shivered. _Sometimes daughter and servant are not nearly as far apart as they should be._ She looked down at her girls, sleeping in her arms; not only did these witches wanted to steal them away, but they wanted to treat her little angels as her stepmother had treated her? No. Absolutely not. Her daughters were princesses of Armorique, and they would grow up surrounded by lovely things and pretty gowns and jewels and, most importantly of all, with the unceasing love of their mother and father.

 _I won't let them take you,_ Cinderella said. _I absolutely won't, I promise._

"I was further informed," Christine continued to read. "That when these stolen girls come of age, those that have been corrupted by the sisters three are sent out into the world to do more evil in their own right. See Clara of the Crooked Hand, Wendoline One-Eyed and Young Lilith for just three of the foul creatures who have been loosed on the world by the sisters three, and who have become so notorious in their own right as to warrant mention here; read, and despair that those girls were once sweet and innocent babes stolen away and corrupted by these Odd Sisters.

"Those that have not been corrupted, unless they escape as did she to whom I spoke," Christine paused. "They are killed, and served up in the cooking pot. My god."

"Oh no," Cinderella murmured. "There must be something we can do!"

"I'm reading, your highness," Christine said. She began to speak more quickly. "The girl who escaped was, of course, suspected of treachery, but after a thorough examination we concluded that there was no trace of witchcraft on her and that all she said was true.

"That these sisters have a fourth sister, and that said sister is Circe Xenios, one of the more minor enchantresses to feature in this tome, is well known to those of us who have studied the occult and the demonic, but my escapee said that while she was in that dread house the sisters spoke of Circe more as a daughter than a sister. This may relate to the lore of fairy births, of which I am a proponent for all that the theory does not yet enjoy widespread acceptance. Certainly, from what I was told, it seems that the frequent absences of Circe from the house of the sisters causes them to seek for substitutes in the form of abducted girls, and if Circe were ever to sever ties with her sisters completely then I have no doubt that they would only desire yet more children to fill the void.

"Although the sisters dwell only in a single house, that house has the power to move under the power of their foul magic, and is consistently found nearby to their latest victim. The power of the sisters is considerable, and they have been known to conjure cruel beasts, to cause deadly accidents, to implant thought and suggestion in the minds of their enemies and all manner of sorcery besides. No one is known to have cheated them out of a bargain made and survived for long."

"That's comforting," Augustina muttered.

"Or at least," Christine continued to read. "That is what they would have you believe. I myself have heard stories from those who claimed to have survived them, and I believe that they told the truth. However I will not name them so as not to bring the renewed wrath of the sisters down upon those who have made good their escape!" Christine's face was contorted with frustration. "Well…well really! What good is that?"

"It might actually be helpful," Belle said. "Just because this monk didn't name them doesn't mean that there won't be anything anywhere else to identify who these lucky people were and how they got away. If we can find them, maybe we can also learn what it was they did to get the witches to give up. I'd be glad to look with you, if you like."

Christine looked up at Belle. "I…I suppose that you might be right, and it might also be the best chance we have. If you wish, Madame, I would be glad of the assistance."

"I've heard that iron is good for keeping out witches," Jean said. "A horseshoe on the door, that sort of thing."

"If I might propose a slightly Norman solution," Frederica said. "These people have threatened the princesses of Armorique, they have neither claim on nor right to mercy. If they are nearby, as the tome suggests, then they can be found and if they can be found then they can be…dealt with. Permanently."

"I could probably find enough discreet men to organise a search," Etienne said. "Although I'm not entirely sure what we'd be looking for."

"A cottage, apparently," Christine said. "Perfectly ordinary from the outside and yet…where one was not before."

Etienne frowned. "Not a lot to go on, my lady, but I understand that's not your fault. I'll find some men and get started."

"Do you think you can find anything based on that?" Eugene asked him.

"I don't know," Etienne said. "But I'd rather do something than just sit around and wait for something to befall you or Cinderella, or the children God forbid."

"I'd like to have the girls crib moved up here, into my rooms," Cinderella said. "I know it may not mean much, but I'd feel so much safer if they were here with me, rather than down two flights of stairs."

Eugene nodded. "I'll have it done at once."

"Your highness…your highnesses," Jean said. "Although I have little right to do so, I feel that I speak for us all here when I tell you that we will do all that we can do to keep your children safe. You have my word that no harm will come to them, and they shall know no other mother but you all the days of their life."

Cinderella smiled at him. "Thank you Jean, that…that means a great deal to me." She looked around the room, at her husband and all her friends willing to help her keep her family safe and together in the face of this new enemy.

As frightened as she felt, as tired as she felt of all this trouble, Cinderella also felt in that moment a little spark of hope within her. All of these people, who had helped her and supported her so much, so far, and for so long. With all of their help and continued support then maybe, just maybe, they could win.

She could only hope.


	13. Magic of Light and Darkness (rewrite)

_Author's Note: I deleted the chapters that I wasn't happy with, and I'm going to redo the story from this point on. This chapter is largely unchanged, but it has a radically different conclusion so you should read the last couple of scenes again anyway._

Magic of Light and Darkness

Cinderella gently lowered her babies down into the cradle, and with equal tenderness she tucked them in, together, beneath a soft woollen blanket.

Annabelle started to squirm, although she didn't open her eyes and it was possible that she wasn't yet awake.

"Shh, shh now, Annabelle," Cinderella whispered, stroking her dark-haired girl's cheek with one silk-gloved finger. "It's alright now. I'm here, and I'm watching over you."

Annabelle stopped squirming and fidgeting, and Isabelle rolled over – still asleep – and wrapped her little arms around her sister.

Cinderella leaned on the wooden side of the cradle, tilting it just a little towards her, and smiled down upon the sleeping angels. _I won't let anything happen to you._ She looked up, and straightened up. "Thank you, both."

The two burly footmen who had carried the ornate and probably rather heavy cradle up the stairs and manoeuvred it through Cinderella's bedroom door both nodded. "Your highness," they said, bowing, before they took their leave.

Eugene remained. He was the only one; all the rest had departed, some for home or bed or both before they got down to work tomorrow morning, some to start work at once or think of some way they could help. In the time that it had taken Eugene to get a couple of men to manhandle the crib into the princess' bedchamber, Jean had dashed down to the stables, gotten a horseshoe from the royal farrier, and nailed it to the back of the bedroom door. He said his mother had told him that it kept out witches.

Cinderella had no idea if it would work, but if it did she would be very glad of the fact; however she rather hoped it didn't keep out fairy godmothers.

But even Jean was gone now – for a value of gone which meant that he was standing outside the door to which he had so quickly nailed a horseshoe; in the brief interval in which the door had been open before the footmen had closed it behind them she had caught sight of him, back to the door, standing sentinel against any menace which might approach from up the stairs – and only Eugene remained. Whenever she wished Cinderella could call Oscar and Penny – her supposed maids whom Jean had found somewhere to be something in the way of protectors – back up, but for now she didn't; she liked having Eugene here.

Eugene approached her; or rather he approached the crib, standing on the other side of it, looking down at their children as they slept.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" he asked. He glanced at her. "When they're grown they will be as lovely as their mother, no doubt."

"They already are, in my eyes," Cinderella replied, not even blushing a little at the compliment. She covered her mouth with one hand. "If they stay here with us."

"They will," Eugene said fiercely, as he crossed around the cradle and embraced Cinderella, hugging her tight so that her head was resting against his chest. "They absolutely will, I guarantee it. I swear to you, nothing is going to take these girls away from us." He was silent for a moment, before he released her from the embrace. Cinderella could have stayed like that for hours at least, with his arms around her and his chest for her pillow and him squeezing her in a way that would never hurt her but at the same time never let her come to harm; she could have stayed like that for hours but he let her go after only a few moments.

He looked down at her, she looked up at him. Their eyes met. _Stay with me tonight,_ Cinderella tried to tell him through her gaze. _Stay with us._

"I should go," Eugene said. "After all that's happened I'm sure you must be tired." He bent down to kiss her, his lips brushing against hers. He kissed her thrice more, once on each cheek and finally upon her diminutive button nose. "Goodnight, darling." He turned to go.

Cinderella reached out and caught his wrist with both hands. "Please stay," she said, as she pulled him to a stop. "Please, I…I need to speak to you."

Eugene blinked, he looked surprised, as though he couldn't imagine what she might want to talk about. "What's wrong?" he asked, before looking like he thought himself a complete idiot. "I mean, so much is wrong, but-"

"This isn't about that," Cinderella said. Maybe this was the wrong time, maybe she ought to wait, maybe this was the worst possible time to talk about this but if she didn't mention it now then when would she? When had she ever benefited from keeping silent with Eugene? She had kept quiet about so many things that had bothered her or troubled her and it had never made a single one of those things better. Only being brave and risking his reaction to raise the subject had ever done that, and so, regardless of whether it was the right time or not, she would raise this and see what he had to say. "This is about…earlier tonight. What you said to Belle and Prince Adam."

Eugene frowned. "I…I suppose that I was rather rude to them; I suppose you think I should apologise? Truth to tell I probably should."

"Perhaps," Cinderella murmured. "But that wasn't really what I meant. Afterwards, when you and Adam left, I tried to apologise for you to Belle and she asked me…she asked me if I'd had a bad pregnancy. She wouldn't tell me why she asked but…Eugene, is that it? Is that why you don't come to bed with me any more, is that why you still barely spend any time with Philippe…is that why I'm afraid you're not going to avoid your daughters too?"

"I don't avoid the girls," Eugene said.

"You never join me for my time with them, or Philippe, even though I've asked you too."

"I have work to do."

"Eugene," Cinderella said, with sternness entering her voice. "You know that I can't stand it when you lie to me. Please don't. Please, tell me the truth: is it because of what happened to Katharine? What nearly happened to me?"

Eugene was quiet, for a moment or more, but the look upon his face was the answer that Cinderella had feared even before his mouth opened once again. "My son killed his mother, my daughters nearly did the same," he said. "My children are born violent, it seems. And as for your bed…I cannot risk losing you a second time."

"Eugene," Cinderella didn't even try to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "They're children. Innocent children."

"I know," Eugene murmured. "And I love my daughters, I really do, I just…you almost died."

"But I didn't," Cinderella reminded him, as though he needed. She took a step closer towards him, and raised one hand to gently stroke his face. "I'm here, and I'm fine, and I'm going to be fine." She smiled encouragingly up at him for a moment. "I'm here and I want you." She paused for a moment. "Eugene, I want you and I want more children."

"Aren't the three you already have enough?"

Cinderella made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a giggle. "I'm afraid not." She shook her head. "And anyway, even if it were so…I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life sleeping alone. Do you?"

"No," Eugene said quickly. "No, of course not, but…" He reached up and clasped her hand. "Cinderella, please, try and understand. I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"But I _almost_ did," Eugene repeated. "Because of something that I did to you…something that I put inside of you, you were…I almost lost you."

"But you _didn't_ ," Cinderella insisted. "I'm alright, and I'm going to stay that way." She had no idea if that was definitely true, or if there would ever come a point where her fairy godmother would throw up her hands in despair and say that it was her own fault she kept putting herself into these situations; would say, like Eugene, that she already had enough children to be getting on with. But if that were so she certainly wasn't going to put the idea into his head. "Do you really not want any more children? None at all."

Eugene breathed in deeply through his nose, his chest rising and falling. "I love our children," he said, and Cinderella wasn't sure if he said it that way to exclude Philippe or not. "But I will always choose you over them. Always."

"But you said-"

"I said…" Eugene trailed off for a moment. "I said what I thought you'd like to hear."

"You lied to me."

"I do love the girls," Eugene protested.

"And your son?" Cinderella asked. "What about him?"

Eugene's face went very still, and he did not reply.

Cinderella pulled her hand out of his unresisting grasp. "He called me 'mother' today."

Eugene's expression did not alter. His voice, when it came, was a little more hoarse than before. "What did you do?"

"I allowed it," Cinderella said softly.

"But you're not his mother."

"I think I am," Cinderella replied.

"He-"

"My mother was never well after she had me," Cinderella said. "Eventually she passed away. Did I kill her?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you blame that sweet boy? How can you turn your back on him?" Cinderella asked. "If he doesn't know who his mother really is that's because you never talk to him about her. You barely talk to him at all." She took a deep breath, and when she spoke again her voice was once more softer and quieter than it had been. "Eugene…I love you, but I…I don't know if I can trust you with our children and that terrifies me."

Eugene's eyes widened with horror. "You can't believe I'd hurt them."

"No," Cinderella said immediately. "No, of course not, but…" she paused for a moment. Merely considering this was making her eyes water with fear, terror even. "If anything happens to me-"

"Nothing is going to happen to you, I won't allow it," Eugene declared, taking her by the arms.

Cinderella pulled away from him, taking a step backwards towards the crib. "You heard what Christine said; these witches they, they seek revenge on those they think have tried to cheat them. If they…" she wiped away her eyes with one hand, and found herself looking away from him, focussing on the off-white wall of the bedroom. "If…if they kill me-"

"Cinderella!"

"I need to know that you'll take care of our children," Cinderella said. She had looked away, now she looked back at him, her gaze imploring. "Promise me, Eugene. Promise me that if anything happens to me that you won't turn your back on the girls the way you did Philippe; promise me that you'll play a part in your son's life, and in the lives of your daughters. Promise me that you'll fill their lives with love. Promise me, Eugene, please."

Eugene stared at her in amazement. He stared at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. "I…I've never seen you look so afraid before. Not even when that man tried to shoot you at the political meeting."

"I wasn't a mother then," Cinderella whispered. "I didn't have to worry about the children I'd be leaving behind me."

Eugene's chest rose and fell, rose and fell as he stared at her in silence. "I…I didn't realise you were so afraid. Before-"

"I had to keep up appearances before," Cinderella said. "Now it's just you and me." She sniffed. "I'm sorry, I don't meant to-"

She was interrupted by him crossing the distance between them and enfolding her in his arms again before she could stop him or say or do anything about it.

"I've been a complete ass," he said. "Again."

Cinderella turned her head, and once more rested it upon his chest. "You're a wonderful man," she said. "Our children are very lucky to have you as a father, as soon as you start acting like their father."

Eugene chuckled. "I take your point. I'm so sorry, I didn't realise-"

"It's alright," Cinderella whispered. "It doesn't matter any more."

"What should I do?"

"Just join me, in the time I spend with them," Cinderella said. "Some of it, at least. Tell them stories. Play with them. Let them know you. I…I don't want you to feel as though you have to marry again because you've no idea what to do on your own."

"Please, don't talk like that," Eugene said. "I'll change, I'll be the father that they need and that you'd like me to be. But you're not going anywhere. I want you to promise me that."

Cinderella closed her eyes. "With everything that's going on, I…I'm not sure I can."

Eugene's grip on her tightened. It was still not painful, but it was firm, and there was no way that Cinderella could have escaped it even if she'd wanted to. She didn't want to. She was content to stay there, in his arms, pressed against him, for as long as he wanted it.

And this time he did not let her go.

"Don't go," Cinderella whispered. "Stay with me tonight. I don't…I need you."

She felt Eugene kiss her on the cheek before he whispered into her ear, "I will."

* * *

She had needed that. Cinderella hadn't realised just how much she needed that until it was over and she felt…such relief. She'd known that she missed it, the feel of his arms moving over her with furious energy as he moved within her, but it wasn't until after she had it again that Cinderella realised just how much she had missed it and how much she had needed it. She felt as though a painful knot within her had disappeared.

Perhaps it was nothing more than the fact that all her worst fears – that Eugene no longer loved her, no longer found her desirable – had been proved groundless, or perhaps…she didn't know. All she knew was that she had needed that.

Eugene was asleep now, sprawled out across the bed, naked beneath the covers. Cinderella watched him for a moment, so peaceful in spite of everything. Then she turned away, and got up out of bed.

The curtain were drawn in the bedroom, but there was still a sliver of moonlight coming in through a crack in the scarlet drapery to alight upon the cradle. Cinderella grabbed a pale pink dressing gown and wrapped it around her naked body as she walked across the wooden floor to the crib. The girls were still sleeping, peacefully by the look of it. Good. Sleep had freed them from worry and from doubt, just as it seemed to have freed Eugene.

Only Cinderella remained awake, and being awake only Cinderella remained prey to fears and doubts.

She so wanted to keep her daughters safe. She would do anything to keep them safe but how could she? These were witches, powerful and wicked witches if the book Christine had found contained any accuracy whatsoever. Powerful, wicked and utterly malicious. What could she do to stop them?

What could she do to protect her children?

She couldn't even protect herself.

Cinderella turned away from the cradle, and her voice trembled a little as she whispered to the night. "Fairy Godmother? Fairy Godmother, are you there?"

"I am, my dear," the voice came from behind Cinderella, on the other side of the cradle. "I'd say how lovely it is to see you, but in the circumstances…I'm not sure you'd appreciate it."

Cinderella turned, and couldn't keep the look of joyous relief off her face as she saw her standing there, her fairy godmother, her saviour twice over now, her magical guardian watching over her. "It's always wonderful to see you," she said. "Even if it is sometimes at moments that are…less than perfect, it's still always wonderful to see you." Her face fell. "It's the only bright spot in all this. Do you…do you know?"

"About the sisters?" Fairy Godmother asked. "Yes, my child, I'm afraid so."

"Did you know? About the bargain that Eugene's ancestor had made?"

"No," she said. "My business with the royal line didn't start until you met your prince."

Cinderella nodded. That was probably the answer she should have been expecting; this wasn't the sort of secret that her fairy godmother would have kept from her, or at least she hoped not. "Are…are the girls' godmothers, are they?"

"Here," Fairy Godmother said. "As I told you, you will never see them or meet them, but they are here, watching over the girls."

"If Jean hadn't broken into the room and scared the Sisters off, would they have…" Cinderella trailed off. "I don't understand how this works, so please forgive me, can you…can you stop this?"

"Can we make the Sisters depart, and leave you in peace, renouncing any claim upon these precious darlings?" her Fairy Godmother asked. Her expression was melancholy, and filled with regret. "I'm afraid not, my dear. They are too strong; even the three of us working together could not intimidate them or overpower them."

Cinderella wasn't able to keep the disappointment off her face; it was terribly rude of her but to learn that the person she had hoped would have a, well, a magical solution to all of this was as powerless as she felt herself was…she felt her hopes being dashed like a ship wrecked on the rocky coast of Armorique.

"But," Fairy Godmother said. "There is something that your daughters' godmothers have done, and something that I can do."

Cinderella felt hope, like a rose touched by the sun after a long, dark night, begin to bloom within her breast once more; was it possible that she was again to be rewarded with a miracle? How blessed was she, and how blessed were her children. "What do you mean?"

"Your daughters' godmothers have worked an enchantment over them," Fairy Godmother explained. "The Sisters cannot harm them directly, nor can they take them from this place without leave. They will only have your children now if you or your husband, as their parents, give them freely up-"

"I will never do that and neither will Eugene," Cinderella said at once.

"Or if some mortal servant steals them for the Sisters on their behalf," Fairy Godmother concluded.

Cinderella nodded. Mortal servants, whoever they might be, could be more easily guarded against than three witches who could – or so it seemed – appear anywhere they chose. Jean would never let anyone with ill-intent get anywhere near the girls, and nor would anyone else that she could think of for that matter. "I don't know how I can…I don't know if you can hear me," she said softly, speaking not to her own Fairy Godmother now but to the empty – to her – air around the cradle in the hope that her daughters' own guardians were nearby and could hear the words she whispered. "But thank you. Thank you so much." She looked at her own godmother once more. "Are they still here?"

Fairy Godmother nodded. "Yes, my child. But you must understand that this does not solve all problems. They will certainly come for you now, and seek to harm or harass you until you relent and give up your children to them."

"I won't do that," Cinderella insisted. "Not ever, no matter what they do."

The Fairy Godmother's expression mingled pride and concern in equal measure. "I know, my dear, I know. That is why we come to my part: I have a gift for you." Her magic wand, a beam of pure white, gleaming like the moon without, appeared in her hand. She gave a little flourish of the shining rod and lo, there hovering in the air before her appeared a ring of silver, a thin but glimmering band on which was set a sapphire of square cut.

"September child," Fairy Godmother said, as the ring floated into her outstretched hand. "The sapphire is your favourite gem, but it is also your birthstone."

Cinderella nodded. "I know. That's always been one of the reasons why it's my favourite." The other being, of course, the way that blue sapphires matched her eyes.

Fairy Godmother crossed the room, took Cinderella by the left hand, and slipped the ring onto her little finger. "I know that you have many rings," she said. "But this ring is extraordinary. You must always wear it, even to bed, until this awful business is concluded. Because this is an enchanted ring, while you wear it they cannot harm you with curse or by malicious hand." She smiled. "And yes, it will still protect you if you wear a glove beneath it."

Cinderella let out a soft little gasp as she touched the ring, turning it on her finger. "Then…I'm safe from them?" All her fears, so heartfelt and so suddenly confessed to Eugene about what the three witches might do to her, seemed now so foolish, so premature, so silly.

"Oh, my dear, I wish that it were so," Fairy Godmother said. "My power is not that great compared to theirs. I fear that they will find ways around my protection. But you are safer than you would have been, and need not fear so much."

Cinderella smiled down at her. "What did I ever do to be so blessed with you?"

"Oh, my child," Fairy Godmother replied. "Nothing at all, but to be yourself. Goodbye, my dear. I wish that I could do more for you, but since I cannot…all I can do is wish you the very best of luck, and promise that whatever happens I will be watching."

* * *

"Bah!" Ruby declared haughtily, as she and her sisters watched the scene unfold in one of their many magic mirrors. They stood in the Hall of Mirrors, in fact, where mirror upon mirror – all made by the same master craftsman who had wrought the famous oracular glass that had once belonged to the Old Queen – reflected their images back and forth in an infinite spiral, reflection bouncing off reflection off reflection, growing smaller and smaller as they cascaded into the distance, never ending, never stopping, always and eternal as the sisters themselves.

Sometimes they liked to come here, and simply stand in the centre of so many mirrors, mirrors on every surface, mirrors taking up every inch of the walls, mirrors behind the doors, mirrors, mirrors everywhere. Sometimes they liked the stand in the centre and watch as their reflections, their beautiful reflections, reflected and refracted away from them until it seemed the whole world was consumed with their own image.

At other times, as now, they used their mirrors as a set of windows upon the world. While their cauldron was useful for scrying out their enemies, and as a way of cursing them when necessary, there were other times when it was better to simply go to the Hall of Mirrors and use their many magic mirrors – Ruby was still sore about the time that Circe had given one away to Prince Adam, to look out at the world during his curse – and see what all of those who might oppose them were doing.

Thus in one mirror they could see Adam and Belle in bed together, in another they could see General Gerard beginning to sound out men as though he had a chance of finding them, in a third mirror they saw Christine Roux in the library, reading by candlelight; in yet another mirror they could see Princess Frederica praying.

But right now all of their attention was fixed upon the mirror that was showing them Princess Cinderella's bedchamber, where to the insult of having to watch the royal love-making (honestly, some people had no consideration whatsoever for the poor voyeur) was added the injury of having seen what the princess' fairy godmother was up to.

"Bah!" Ruby said again. "I've always hated fairy godmothers."

"Interfering busybodies," Lucinda agreed. "Always going around doing _good_ ; and doing it for nothing, what's more!"

"So saccharine, blegh!" Martha said. "Listen to her, how can anyone be so…so _nice_?"

"I'm more concerned with the way that she and the others have gotten in the way of our business," Ruby muttered. "How dare they stand in the way of our rights? We had an agreement, have they no thought for that?"

"Fairy Godmothers are always selfish," Lucinda said. "Always putting the interests of their children first."

"Never looking at the larger picture," said Martha.

"Nevertheless," Ruby sighed. "Victims of cruel and unjust fate as we are, we must battle on. The question before us, sisters, is what shall we do now?"

Lucinda and Martha exchanged a silent glance, then looked expectantly at Ruby.

Ruby rolled her eyes. Sometimes she felt as though she had to do everything around here. "Neither of you?"

"Let us here your plan first, sister, and then we shall know whether to ashamed of our own notions," Martha said.

Ruby looked at her sister out of the side of her over-large eyes, uncertain if she actually just wanted more time to think or if she really did have an idea that she was reluctant to share.

"I…" she stopped. She smiled, a cruel and wicked thing with no mercy or kindness in it. But of course. Yes, of course. Because there were three children, and one of them didn't have a fairy godmother to protect him. "I have an idea," she said.

* * *

Cinderella was awakened by the scream.

Philippe's scream, which echoed all the way up to the top of the tower from his bedroom.

"Philippe," Cinderella murmured as she leapt out of bed. _But Jean told me that he put a man upon the door._ But nevertheless that was, without a doubt, Philippe's scream that she had just heard.

Eugene was stirring more slowly than she was, his wits still fuddled by sleep even as his eyes flickered open. "What…was that-"

"Philippe," Cinderella said. She could hear Jean's feet pounding on the staircase as he went downstairs to the source of the scream. She pulled open the door to follow him. "Come on, we have to hurry."

"Cinderella, wait!" Eugene called out to her, fruitlessly, as Cinderella left the bedroom and rushed down the stairs. She couldn't wait, not after hearing a scream like that. Even if it was only a nightmare then Philippe must be terribly frightened to have let out a scream like that, and if it was no nightmare then…then he would need his mother to make it better.

And she would make it better, she could. Cinderella told herself that as she rushed down the stairs. Because the alternative…she didn't dare to consider what the alternative might be.

She reached the floor two floors below her own, where her ladies in waiting slept. Angelique came out of her room, like Cinderella clad in her nightgown, her face pale and anxious. "Did you-"

"Yes," Cinderella said, barely stopping. "Come with me, please."

Angelique nodded gravely, and together – Marinette came out a moment later, but Cinderella didn't have time to stop a second time – they went down the last flight of stairs to Philippe's room.

Jean was standing in the open doorway; open, but blocked by the dead body of Corporal Adragain, his throat slit and his blood pooling on the floor. Cinderella let out a horrified gasp at the sight, her hands rising to cover her mouth as she stared for a moment at the awful sight, the dead man, the life snuffed out.

She realised that the only sound she could hear was her own breath and the footsteps on the stairs above her.

Which meant it was far too quiet.

"Jean," Cinderella whispered. "Where's Philippe?"

Jean did not look at her. He didn't answer. He never ignored her but now…now he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the body.

"Jean," Cinderella repeated, and when he still ignored her she rushed towards the room. "Philippe? Philippe can you hear me?"

Jean caught her by the arm as she tried to leap over the body. "Best if you don't, princess."

Jean was stronger than Cinderella, far stronger, but she was filled with desperation which lent her strength enough to pull away from his grasp and stumble into the bedroom of her son.

The bedroom where he was not, and nowhere to be found.

The room was empty, but above the bed had been scrawled words in blood. In the blood of Corporal Adragain.

Cinderella let out a little whimper of horror. "No. No, please tell me it isn't true. Somebody please. Philippe? Philippe, where are you?"

He didn't answer. He could not, because as the words daubed in crimson on the wall proclaimed:

We have your son.


	14. A Desperate Idea

A Desperate Idea

Jean looked grim. Angelique had never seen him look quite like this before. She loved him, she loved him with the largest part of her heart, but there was always a part of her that saw him as her Jean, a little foolish, prone to sentimentalism, to believing in high flown nonsense; there had always been something absurd about her back-alley knight with his chivalric pretensions. He was as brave as a lion and as strong as a bull, but he was also about as wise as a lamb and that was something that Angelique had always slightly laughed at, even while she loved him for it.

She wasn't laughing now. Nobody was laughing now, least of all Jean Taurillion.

They had taken the body of Corporal Lamond Adragain down from the tower, and laid him out in the chapel in which she and Jean both stood. His throat was still red from the blood that had dried there after those witches had slit his throat; his eyes were closed but that couldn't hide the expression of surprise upon the rest of his face. They had caught him from behind somehow; probably using magic to get into the boy's room, killed the guard then took the boy.

Had they even needed to kill Corporal Adragain, or had they done it simply because they could?

Angelique didn't know the answer to that. There probably wasn't anyone who knew the answer to that save for those who actually did the murder.

It probably didn't matter much now anyway.

It didn't seem to matter much to Jean, as he stood in front of the body glowering down at it almost as though the dead man himself was the object of his fury. The light from all the candles burning in the chapel flickered on his face, illuminating it but seeming to bring no light to the darkness that had consumed him.

"Jean?" Angelique said softly.

Jean didn't reply.

"Jean," Angelique repeated, reaching out for him with one hand.

He pulled away. "Don't touch me," he hissed, making Angelique draw back from him in turn. He cringed. "I'm sorry, Angelique," he said. "I didn't mean to…I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Angelique said. "I understand."

"Do you?" Jean murmured. "I'm not sure that I do." He drew in a sharp breath through his nose. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you."

"You should be with the princess."

"Princess Cinderella wants to be alone right now," Angelique said.

"And you think that's a good idea?"

"No," Angelique admitted. "But she's not alone. Prince Eugene's with her, and Marinette is just downstairs."

"Mademoiselle du Bois? Lady Roux?"

"Researching in the library," Angelique said. "I'm here for you…if you want me to be."

Jean scowled, and hunched his shoulders, and said nothing.

"This isn't your fault," Angelique said.

"I know who's fault it is," Jean snapped. "Just as I know that…I know that there's nothing I can do to avenge him, or to rescue the young Duke."

Now she saw. She probably ought to have seen it sooner: his anger at himself, such as it was, was entirely at his powerlessness to punish the real objects of his ire, those witches.

"He was one of my men," Jean said. "My men, my responsibility as much as the princess is; as much as her children are. But I can neither rescue the boy nor…nor make my corporal's death mean something."

"Did…did he have any family?" Angelique asked.

"A grandmother, she lives in the city," Jean said. "When she hears this…I fear…they've killed two people, not just one."

"Maybe," Angelique murmured.

"I want to kill them, Angelique," Jean said. "I want to kill them all for what they've done. Is that…is that wrong of me?"

"No," Angelique said. "No, it isn't wrong at all. It's…they deserve to die. And you'll do it, too."

"Nobody else has," Jean said. "Not in hundreds of years."

"Nobody else was Jean Taurillion," Angelique said.

"I'm in no mood to be flattered," Jean said.

"I'm not flattering you," Angelique replied. "Well…I suppose I am, but what I'm trying to say is…" she reached out, and this time he did not pull away as she took his hand. "Is that I believe in you."

Jean looked down at her, and at her hand in his. For a moment the grimness that had consumed his face seemed to lift, like the moment when the dark and gloomy clouds part to let a ray of sunshine through to strike the earth and make the flower bloom. But the clouds rolled in again, and the light was banished from the world once more. "I don't know what to do," he said. "What are we going to do, Angelique?"

 _You're asking me? What do I know about witches and magic or any of this?_ But she couldn't say that, not to him, not to anyone. Because she was Angelique, and whether she was Angelique Bonnet or Angelique Taurillion what wouldn't change was that she was the one who knew what to do, the one that Jean looked to for instruction, the one that Cinderella looked to for good advice even if she ignored it as often as not. The one who knew what road to take. So how could she say, in this moment when the night was darkest it had ever been, that she was completely out of her depth and she had no clue what to do?

How could she admit that she was as helpless as Jean?

"Perhaps…" she began, and the fact that she had to begin with a word as mealy-mouthed as perhaps made her feel awful. "Perhaps there is another power we can appeal to. These witches, they're not the only ones around, we've faced magic in the past-"

"Grace," Jean growled.

"Exactly," Angelique said. "So perhaps…perhaps we can find someone else, appeal to them, use magic against magic."

"Who would want to solve all of our problems, or the princess' problems, for us?" Jean asked.

"We wouldn't have to go that far," Angelique said. "Only find out where the three witches are hiding, where they're keeping Philippe; once we know that then we can ride to the rescue."

Jean looked troubled. "The old king bound his line to give up his daughters in exchange for the help of the three sisters. What might any power we could call upon demand from us for this?"

"I don't know," Angelique admitted. "And if it is too high or terrible a price then we can just refuse the bargain, pay no price and get no benefit. But…but I'll be honest with you, Jean, I don't know what else we can do. We don't know where to find the three sisters, we don't know where Philippe is, we don't…we don't know anything and the princess is…this will break her, like nothing else could. I'm afraid they've done what Serena and Grace and all the rest of them could never do." She stopped, as a thought struck her; a wonderful thought that hadn't occurred to her before. Well, no, it wasn't really a very wonderful thought at all. In fact it was a thought that made her skin crawl a little bit, but at least it was something. It was an idea at a time when they were desperately short upon the same.

"Angelique?" Jean said. "What are you thinking?"

"Grace's family," Angelique said. "The du Villerois. Her brothers, her parents, after she fled with Anatole du Montcalm she abandoned her family to face justice."

"They were stripped of their lands and titles for their part in the coup," Jean said. He and Angelique had both benefited from that, as Princess Cinderella had, out of her generous heart and awareness of those who had loyally supported, bestowed both lands and titles upon the two of them. Angelique fancied that said lands, which she had found to be quite badly managed, were now prospering under more enlightened ownership.

"They lost everything except their lives," Angelique said. "The princess didn't have the heart to order them put to death."

Jean nodded. "I still don't see what you're getting at."

"Grace was a witch!" Angelique said. "What if…I can't believe that there isn't some magic in the rest of her family, too."

"I can believe that," Jean admitted. "But all the same, they're not likely to want to help us."

"We'll have to make them," Angelique said. "Or else find something they want or…we'll have to make them," she repeated. "We can't just do nothing, we can't just leave Philippe in the hands of these monsters, we can't…we can't let Cinderella suffer like this."

Jean looked back at the body of Corporal Adragain, his man, who had an aged grandmother who would be broken by the news of his death.

His jaw tightened. "So what do we do?"

"We go to their highnesses," Angelique said. "And once they agree…then we go down into the darkest cells and get the answers we need."

Jean looked at the body again. He closed his eyes, and bowed his head. "I swear," he said. "I swear that those who did this will pay. You have my word, Corporal." He turned away. "Let's go," he said. "We haven't a moment to lose."

* * *

Eugene had never seen Cinderella so distraught before. She had been frightened, she had been sad, she had been lonely and upset but she had always seemed to recover from it, to put on a smile once more and find fresh hope in the new dawn. Nothing had ever seemed to keep her down for long.

Until now.

Now the dawn was coming and yet there was no sign of any fresh hope in Cinderella. She lay on the bed, her face in her arms, face down, sobbing. She had been like this ever since Philippe had been taken.

He felt so helpless. Infuriatingly, frustratingly so. He couldn't save his son, he couldn't console his wife, he couldn't do anything.

He had let them down, both Cinderella and Katharine. Katharine had trusted him to look after her boy when she was gone and it was not unfair to say that he had singularly failed in that endeavour, trusting him in turn to the care of Etienne Gerard until Cinderella had discovered the truth and insisted that Philippe should come to live with his father.

Cinderella had always loved Philippe better than he had. Where she had seen a motherless boy, a child who needed love and care, Eugene had seen only the reason why his mother was dead. He had resented him, and then when he had stopped resenting him he had nevertheless been distant. And then he had had the gall to be surprised when Philippe had latched onto Cinderella as a mother, when she had been the only parent he had ever known, the only person aside from his grandmother to really show him parental affection.

And now he was gone, and his mother's heart was broken and…and if Katharine was looking down on him then doubtless she was incredibly disappointed.

 _Katharine, do you have any power at all? Can you not intercede with any angel to rescue your son from this terrible fate?_

Cinderella's sobbing ceased. She looked up, and he could see that her face was still wet with tears, the same tears that were welling up in her eyes. "What are we going to do, Eugene? What are we going to do to get our son back?"

Eugene was silent for a moment. "I…I don't know."

"We must do something," Cinderella said. "We can't just…we can't just leave him to…he needs me. He must be so frightened and alone and…there must be something we can do."

"I want to," Eugene said. "I just…I can't think of anything that we can do. We can't give up the girls."

"No, of course not, we could never do that," Cinderella said.

"Then what can we do?"

Cinderella was quiet, silent in fact. "I don't know," she admitted in her turn. "I just…oh, Eugene, this is so terrible. Why does it feel as though we're being punished for something that isn't our fault?"

"Because we are," Eugene said bluntly. "We're being punished for something that my ancestor did. I'd like to ring his neck."

"That wouldn't help us get Philippe back."

"Will anything?" Eugene asked. He scowled. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"I know," Cinderella said. "I feel so…oh, Philippe. Is there nothing that we can do? Nothing at all?"

There was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Eugene demanded.

"It's Angelique," came the voice from the other side of the door. "I might have an idea."

Cinderella gasped, and before Eugene could say anything she had leapt from the bed and flung open the door, heedless of the fact that she was wearing her nightgown and nothing else. Eugene supposed that this was hardly the moment for propriety, not to mention that they had already seen her so dressed when she had heard Philippe scream and rushed downstairs. "Come in," Cinderella said. "What is it? What should we do?"

Angelique walked inside – Cinderella gave way before her – followed by Lieutenant Taurillion, who shut the door behind them.

"I want to talk to the du Villerois in prison," Angelique said. "I think they might be witches, or warlocks…is that the word? Warlock is a word, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's the right word," Eugene said impatiently. "What makes you think that they are witches or warlocks?"

"Grace was, your highness," Angelique said. "And I don't think that we've got anything to lose by asking them about it."

"But what do you hope to accomplish by it?" Eugene asked.

"Eugene," Cinderella said. "At least it's doing something."

"There isn't any point in doing something that gets us nowhere."

"Doing nothing will get us nowhere for certain," Angelique replied. "I admit that it isn't a brilliant plan, and I admit that they've no reason to help us at all but…if we can bribe them or bully them or persuade them to talk then maybe…we don't understand magic but they do. Maybe they can help us work out what we can actually do to get your son back and put this threat behind us once and for all."

"We have to try, Eugene," Cinderella insisted.

"After what they did to you?" Eugene asked. "After what Grace did, they must hate us! They're more likely to rejoice in our misery than tell us anything that will help."

"Everyone wants something," Angelique said. "We just have to find out what it is and dangle it in front of them."

"Angelique's right, we can't do nothing," Cinderella said. "Aside from giving up the girls is there any price too high to get Philippe back? He's all alone surrounded by monsters, he must be terrified with no one to hold him or watch him while he goes to sleep or make it all better for him. We need to get him back, we need to bring him home. We can't just…if this will help we have to try."

Eugene was a good deal less sure that this would help, and he was worried that it might in fact lead to more harm than good. That family, Grace's family…Grace had nearly been the death of all of them, and her quest for vengeance had ended in her own death, which meant that her parents and brothers must surely bear a desire for revenge all of their own. And if they were magical then why hadn't they escaped from prison already?

But…but at the same time Cinderella was right, and her lady Angelique was right: doing nothing would get them nowhere and that…that was intolerable. "Very well," he said. "Speak to them, find out what they say."

"I'll come with you," Cinderella said.

"What?" Angelique asked. "Princess, I don't-"

"I'm not going to just leave this to you," Cinderella said firmly. "I have to do this."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do," Cinderella repeated. "Since there is nothing else that I can do then I have to do this."

Angelique bit her lip. "Princess-"

"He's my son, Angelique," Cinderella said. "He's my son and I can't just sit here while you and Jean try and rescue him. He's my son, and I'm going to get him back."


End file.
